"WAS   THE    PERSON    FICKLE,    AND    DID    HE   BREAK    HIS    PROMISE?" 

Frontispiece, 


A  Young  Mutineer 


BY 
MRS.  L.  T.  MEADE 

AUTHOR   OF     "A    GIRL   IN   TEN   THOUSAND,"    "A   RING  OF 
RUBIES,"    "  GIRLS    NEW    AND    OLD,"    ETC. 


N7EW    YOPK 

STITT    PUBLISHING    COMPANY 

1905 


Annex 


TO 

MY  LITTLE  GIRL  HOPE 
THE   REAL   JUDV 


October  23,  1893 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LITTLE  PAIR  i 

II.  THE  PEOPLE  WHO  GET  MARRIED    ...  14 

III.  A  QUESTION  AND  AN  ANSWER          ...  26 

IV.  CHANGES            .                 36 

V.  IN  A  GARDEN    .         .  52 

VI.  THE  EVE  OF  THE  WEDDING    .        .  67 

VII.  A  WEDDING  PRESENT 82 

VIII.  HONEYMOON      ....  .91 

IX.  STARVED 101 

X.  WAITING 118 

XI.  HUSBAND  AND  WIFE 129 

XII.  HILDA'S  ENGAGEMENT  RING    .        .        .        .149 

XIII.  JUDY'S  ROOM .  157 

XIV.  THE  LITTLE  RIFT 174 

XV.  THREE  is  TRUMPERY 186 

XVI.  A  LITTLE  GIRL  AND  A  LITTLE  CROSS    .        .  195 

XVII.  JUDY'S  SECRET 208 

XVIII.  GlANT-KlLLER 224 

XIX.  GOOD  OMENS              253 

v 


A  YOUNG  MUTINEER. 


CHAPTER  I 

AN   OLD-FASHIONED   LITTLE   PAIR. 

Sun  and  shower — sun  and  shower — 

Now  rough,  now  smooth,  is  the  winding  way ; 
Thorn  and  flower — thorn  and  flower — 

Which  will  you  gather  ?    Who  can  say  ? 
Wayward  hearts,  there's  a  world  for  your  winning, 

Sorrow  and  laughter,  love  or  woe  : 
Who  can  tell  in  the  day's  beginning 

The  paths  that  your  wandering  feet  shall  go  ? 

— MARY  MACLEOD. 

The  village  choir  were  practicing  in  the 
church — their  voices,  somewhat  harsh  and  un 
cultivated,  were  sending  forth  volumes  of  sound 
into  the  summer  air.  The  church  doors  were 
thrown  open,  and  a  young  man  dressed  in  crick- 
eting-flannels  was  leaning  against  the  porch. 
He  was  tall,  and  square-shouldered,  with  closely- 
cropped  dark  hair,  and  a  keen,  intelligent  face. 

When  the  music  became  very  loud  and  discor 
dant  he  moved  impatiently,  but  as  the  human 
voices  ceased  and  the  sweet  notes  of  the  volun 
tary  sounded  in  full  melody  on  the  little  organ,  a 


2  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

look  of  relief  swept  like  a  soothing  hand  over  his 
forehead. 

The  gates  of  the  Rectory  were  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  the  church.  Up  the  avenue  three 
people  might  have  been  seen  advancing.  Two 
were  children,  one  an  adult.  The  grown  mem 
ber  of  this  little  group  was  tall  and  slight;  she 
wore  spectacles,  and  although  not  specially 
gifted  with  wisdom,  possessed  a  particularly  wise 
appearance.  The  two  little  girls,  who  were  her 
pupils,  walked  somewhat  sedately  by  her  side. 
As  they  passed  the  church  the  governess  looked 
neither  to  right  nor  left,  but  the  eldest  girl  fixed 
her  keen  and  somewhat  hungry  eyes  with  a  ques 
tioning  gaze  on  the  young  man  who  stood  in  the 
porch.  He  nodded  back  to  her  a  glance  full  of 
intelligence,  which  he  further  emphasized  by  a 
quick  and  somewhat  audacious  wink  from  his 
left  eye.  The  little  girl  walked  on  loftily;  she 
thought  that  Jasper  Quentyns,  who  was  more 
or  less  a  stranger  in  the  neighborhood,  had  taken 
a  distinct  liberty. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Judy? "  asked  the 
smallest  of  the  girls. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Judy  quickly.  She  turned 
to  her  governess  as  she  spoke.  "  Miss  Mills,  I 
was  very  good  at  my  lessons  to-day,  wasn't  I?  " 

"  Yes,  Judy." 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LITTLE  PAIR.  3 

"  You  are  not  going  to  forget  what  you  prom 
ised  me?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  do  forget;  what  was  it?  " 

"  You  said  if  I  were  really  good  I  might  stop 
at  the  church  on  my  way  back  and  go  home  with 
Hilda.  I  have  been  good,  so  I  may  go  home 
•with  Hilda,  may  I  not?" 

"  Yes,  child,  of  course,  if  I  promised,  but  we 
are  only  just  on  our  walk  now.  It  is  a  fine 
autumnal  day,  and  I  want  to  get  to  the  woods 
to  pick  some  bracken  and  heather,  for  your  Aunt 
Marjorie  has  asked  me  to  fill  all  the  vases  for  din 
ner  to-night.  There  are  not  half  enough  flowers 
in  the  garden,  so  I  must  go  to  the  woods,  what 
ever  happens.  Your  sister  will  have  left  the 
church  when  we  return,  Judy." 

"  No,  she  won't,"  replied  Judy.  "  The  prac 
tice  will  be  twice  as  long  as  usual  to-day  because 
of  the  Harvest  Festival  on  Sunday." 

"  Well,  if  she  is  there  you  can  go  in  and  wait 
for  her,  as  you  have  been  a  good  girl.  Now  let 
us  talk  of  something  else." 

"  I  have  nothing  else  to  talk  about,"  answered 
Judy,  somewhat  sulkily. 

The  bright  expression  which  gave  her  small 
eager  face  its  charm,  left  it;  she  fell  back  a  pace 
or  two,  and  Miss  Mills  walked  on  alone  in  front. 

Judy  was   not   popular   with   her   governess. 


4  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Miss  Mills  was  tired  of  her  constant  remarks 
about  Hilda.  She  had  a  good  deal  to  think  of 
to-day,  and  she  was  pleased  to  let  her  two  pupils 
amuse  themselves. 

Judy's  hungry  and  unsatisfied  eyes  softened 
and  grew  happy  when  their  gaze  fell  upon  Babs. 
Babs  was  only  six,  and  she  had  a  power  of 
interesting  everyone  with  whom  she  came  in 
contact.  Her  wise,  fat  face,  somewhat  solemn 
in  expression,  was  the  essence  of  good-humor. 
Her  blue  eyes  were  as  serene  as  an  unruffled 
summer  pool.  She  could  say  heaps  of  old- 
fashioned,  quaint  things.  She  had  strong  likes 
and  dislikes,  but  she  was  never  known  to  be 
cross.  She  adored  Judy,  but  Judy  only  liked 
her,  for  all  Judy's  passionate  love  was  already 
disposed  of.  It  centered  itself  round  her  eldest 
sister,  Hilda. 

The  day  was  a  late  one  in  September.  The 
air  was  still  very  balmy  and  even  warm,  and  Miss 
Mills  soon  found  herself  sufficiently  tired  to  be 
glad  to  take  advantage  of  a  stile  which  led  right 
through  the  field  into  the  woods  to  rest  herself. 
She  sat  comfortably  on  the  top  of  the  stile,  and 
looking  down  the  road  saw  that  her  little  pupils 
were  disporting  themselves  happily;  they  were 
not  in  the  slightest  danger,  and  she  was  in  no 
hurry  to  call  them  to  her  side. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LITTLE  PAIR.  5 

"  Children  are  the  most  fagging  creatures  in 
Christendom,"  she  said  to  herself;  "  for  my  part 
I  can't  understand  anyone  going  into  raptures 
over  them.  For  one  nice  child  there  are  twenty 
disagreeable  ones.  I  have  nothing  to  say 
against  Babs,  of  course;  but  Judy,  she  is  about 
the  most  spoilt  creature  I  ever  came  across,  and 
of  course  it  is  all  Hilda's  fault.  I  must  speak  to 
Mr.  Merton,  I  really  must,  if  this  goes  on. 
Hilda  and  Judy  ought  to  be  parted,  but  of  course 
Hilda  won't  leave  home  unless,  unless — ah,  I 
wonder  if  there  is  any  chance  of  that.  Too  good 
news  to  be  true.  Too  good  luck  for  Mr.  Ouen- 
tyns  anyhow.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  is 
trying  to  get  Hilda  all  this  time,  but — he  is 
scarcely  likely  to  succeed.  Poor  Judy!  what  a 
blow  anything  of  that  kind  would  be  to  her; 
but  of  course  there  is  not  the  least  chance 
of  it." 

Miss  Mills  took  off  her  hat  as  she  spoke,  and 
allowed  the  summer  air  to  play  with  her  some 
what  thin  fringe  and  to  cool  her  heated  cheeks. 

"  I  hate  children,"  she  soliloquized.  "  I  did 
hope  that  my  time  of  servitude  was  nearly  over, 
but  when  men  prove  so  unfaithful!"  Here  a 
very  angry  gleam  flashed  out  of  her  eyes;  she  put 
her  hand  into  her  pocket,  and  taking  out  a  letter, 
read  it  slowly  and  carefully.  Her  expression 


o  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

was  not  pleasant  while  she  perused  the  words  on 
the  closely  written  page. 

She  had  just  returned  the  letter  to  its  envelope 
when  a  gay  voice  sounded  in  her  ears.  A  girl 
was  seen  walking  across  the  field  and  approach 
ing  the  stile.  She  was  a  fair-haired,  pretty  girl, 
dressed  in  the  height  of  the  fashion.  She  had  a 
merry  laugh,  and  a  merry  voice,  and  two  very 
bright  blue  eyes. 

''  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Mills?  "  she  called  to 
her.  "  I  am  going  to  see  Hilda.  Can  you  tell 
me  if  she  is  at  home?  " 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Anstruther?  "  replied 
Miss  Mills;  ''  I  did  not  know  you  had  returned." 

'  Yes,  we  all  came  home  yesterday.  I  am 
longing  to  see  Hilda,  I  have  such  heaps  of  things 
to  tell  her.  Is  she  at  the  Rectory?  " 

"  At  the  present  moment  she  is  very  busily 
employed  trying  to  train  the  most  unmelodious 
choir  in  Great  Britain,"  replied  Miss  Mills. 
"  The  Harvest  Festival  takes  place  on  Sunday, 
and  in  consequence  she  has  more  than  usual  to 
do." 

"  Ah,  you  need  not  tell  me;  I  am  not  going  to 
venture  within  sound  of  that  choir.  I  shall  go 
down  to  the  Rectory  and  wait  until  her  duties 
are  ended.  There  is  not  the  least  hurry. 
Good-by,  Miss  Mills.  Are  the  children  well?" 


AX  OLD-FASHIONED  LITTLE  PAIR.  7 

"You  can  see  for  yourself,"  replied  Miss  Mills; 
"  they  are  coming  up  the  road  side  by  side." 

"  Old-fashioned  little  pair,"  replied  Miss  An- 
struther,  with  a  laugh.  "  I'll  just  run  down  the 
road  and  give  them  a  kiss  each,  and  then  go  on 
to  the  Rectory." 

Miss  Mills  did  not  say  anything  further. 
Miss  Anstruther  mounted  the  stile,  called  out  to 
the  children  to  announce  her  approach,  kissed 
them  when  they  met,  received  an  earnest  gaze 
from  Judy  and  an  indifferent  one  from  Babs,  and 
went  on  her  way. 

"  Do  you  like  her,  Judy?  "  asked  Babs,  when 
the  pretty  girl  had  left  them. 

"  Oh,  yes!"  replied  Judy  in  a  careless  tone; 
"  she  is  well  enough.  I  don't  love  her,  if  that's 
what  you  mean,  Babs." 

"  Of  course  it  isn't  what  I  mean,"  replied 
Babs.  "  How  many  rooms  have  you  got  in 
your  heart,  Judy?  " 

"  One  big  room  quite  full,"  replied  Judy  \vith 
emphasis. 

"  I  know— it's  full  of  Hilda." 

"  It  is.' 

"  I  have  got  a  good  many  rooms  in  my  heart," 
said  Babs.  "  Mr.  Love  is  in  some  of  them,  and 
Mr.  Like  is  in  others.  Have  you  no  room  in 
your  heart  for  Mr.  Like,  Judy?  " 


8  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  No." 

'  Then  poor  Miss  Mills  does  not  live  in  your 
heart  at  all?" 

"  No.  Oh,  dear!  what  a  long  walk  she's  going 
to  take  us  to-day.  If  I  had  known  that  this 
morning,  I  wouldn't  have  taken  so  much  pains 
over  my  arithmetic.  I  shan't  have  a  scrap  of 
time  with  Hilda.  It  is  too  bad.  I  am  sure  Miss 
Mills  does  it  to  worry  me.  She  never  can  bear 
us  to  be  together." 

"Poor  Judy!"  replied  Babs.  "I  shan't  let 
Miss  Mills  live  in  my  heart  at  all  if  she  vexes 
you;  but  oh,  dear;  oh,  dear!  Just  look,  do  look! 
Do  you  see  that  monstrous  spider  over 
there,  the  one  with  the  sun  shining  on  his 
web?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Don't  you  love  spiders?  " 

"  Of  course.  I  love  all  animals.  I  have  a 
separate  heart  for  animals." 

Babs  looked  intensely  interested. 

"  I  love  all  animals  too,"  she  said,  "  every 
single  one,  all  kinds — even  pigs.  Don't  you 
love  pigs,  Judy?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do." 

"  I  wonder  if  Miss  Mills  does?  There  she  is, 
reading  her  letter.  She  has  read  it  twenty  times 
already  to-day,  so  she  must  know  it  by  heart 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LITTLE   PAIR.  9 

now.  Let's  run  up  and  ask  her  if  she  loves 
pigs." 

Judy  quickened  her  steps,  and  the  two  little 
girls  presently  reached  the  stile. 

"  Miss  Mills,"  said  Babs,  in  her  clear  voice, 
"  we  want  to  know  something  very  badly.  Do 
you  love  pigs?  " 

''  Do  I  love  pigs?"  asked  Miss  Mills  with  a 
start.  '  You  ridiculous  child,  what  nonsense 
you  are  talking!  " 

"  But  do  you?  "  repeated  Babs.  "  It  is  most 
important  for  Judy  and  me  to  know;  for  we  love 
them,  poor  things — we  think  they're  awfully 
nice." 

Miss  Mills  laughed  in  the  kind  of  manner 
which  always  irritated  Judy. 

"  I  am  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  join  your  very 
peculiar  hero-worship,  my  dears,"  she  said.  "  I 
can't  say  that  I  am  attached  to  the  pig." 

"  Then  it  is  very  wrong  of  you,"  said  Judy,  her 
eyes  flashing,  "  when  you  think  of  all  the  poor 
pig  does  for  you." 

"  Of  all  the  poor  pig  does  for  me!  What 
next?  " 

'  You  wouldn't  be  the  woman  you  are  but  for 
the  pig,"  said  Judy.  "  Don't  you  eat  him  every 
day  of  your  life  for  breakfast?  You  wouldn't  be 
as  strong  as  you  are  but  for  the  poor  pig,  and  the 


10  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

least  you  can  do  is  to  love  him.  I  don't  suppose 
he  likes  being  killed  to  oblige  you." 

Judy's  great  eyes  were  flashing,  and  her  little 
sensitive  mouth  was  quivering. 

Miss  Mills  gave  her  a  non-comprehending 
glance.  She  could  not  in  the  least  fathom  the 
child's  queer  passionate  nature.  Injustice  of  all 
sorts  preyed  upon  Judy;  she  could  make  herself 
morbid  on  almost  any  theme,  and  a  gloomy  pic 
ture  now  filled  her  little  soul.  The  animals  were 
giving  up  their  lives  for  the  human  race,  and  the 
human  race  did  not  even  give  them  affection  in 
return. 

"  Is  that  letter  very  funny?  "  asked  Babs. 

"  It  is  not  funny,  but  it  is  interesting  to  me." 

"  Do  you  love  the  person  who  wrote  it  to 
you?" 

Miss  Mills  let  the  sheet  of  closely-written 
paper  fall  upon  her  lap;  her  eyes  gazed  into  the 
child's  serene  and  wise  little  face.  Something 
impelled  her  to  say  words  which  she  knew  could 
not  be  understood. 

"  I  hate  the  person  who  wrote  that  letter  more 
than  anyone  else  in  all  the  world,"  she  ex 
claimed. 

There  was  a  passionate  ring  in  her  thin  voice. 
The  emotion  which  filled  her  voice  and  shone 
out  of  her  eyes  gave  pathos  to  her  commonplace 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LITTLE  PAIR.  II 

face.  Babs  began  to  pull  a  flower  to  pieces. 
She  had  never  conjugated  the  verb  to  hate,  and 
did  not  know  in  the  least  what  it  meant;  but 
Judy  looked  at  her  governess  with  new  interest. 

"  Why  do  you  get  letters  from  the  person  you 
hate  so  much?  "  she  asked. 

"  Don't  ask  any  more  questions,"  replied  Miss 
Mills.  She  folded  up  the  sheet  of  paper,  slipped 
it  into  its  envelope,  replaced  the  envelope  in  her 
pocket,  and  started  to  her  feet.  "  Let  us  con 
tinue  our  walk,"  she  said.  "  We  shall  reach  the 
woods  in  five  minutets  if  we  are  quick." 

"  But,"  said  Judy,  as  they  went  down  the  path 
across  the  field,  "  I  should  like  to  know,  Miss 
Mills,  why  you  get  letters  from  a  person  you 
hate." 

"  When  little  girls  ask  troublesome  questions 
they  must  not  expect  them  to  be  answered,"  re 
sponded  Miss  Mills. 

Judy  was  silent.  The  faint,  passing  interest 
she  had  experienced  died  out  of  her  face,  and 
the  rather  sulky,  unsatisfied  expression  returned 
to  it. 

Miss  Mills,  whose  heart  was  very  full  of  some 
thing,  spoke  again,  more  to  herself  than  to  the 
children. 

"  If  there  is  one  bigger  mistake  than  another," 
she  said,  "  it  is  the  mistake  of  being  fond  of  any 


12  A     YOUNG   MUTINEER. 

one.  Oh,  how  silly  girls  are  when  they  get 
engaged  to  be  married!  " 

"What's  that?"  asked  Babs. 

"  I  know,"  said  Judy,  who  was  again  all  curi 
osity  and  interest.  "  I'll  tell  you  another  time 
about  it,  Babs.  Miss  Hicks  in  the  village  was 
engaged,  and  she  had  a  wedding  in  the  summer. 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  Babs,  if  you  ask  me  when 
we  are  going  to  bed  to-night.  Please,  Miss 
Mills,  why  is  it  dreadful  to  be  engaged  to  be 
married?  " 

'  Your  troubles  begin  then,"  said  Miss  Mills. 
"  Oh,  don't  talk  to  me  about  it,  children.  May 
you  never  understand  what  I  am  suffering!  Oh, 
the  fickleness  of  some  people!  The  promises 
that  are  made  only  to  be  broken!  You  trust  a 
person,  and  you  are  ever  so  happy;  and  then  you 
find  that  you  have  made  a  great,  big  mistake, 
and  you  are  miserable." 

"  Is  that  you,  Miss  Mills?  Are  you  the  mis 
erable  person?  "  asked  Judy. 

"  No.  no,  child!  I  didn't  say  it  was  me.  I 
wasn't  talking  of  anyone  in  particular,  and  I 
shouldn't  even  have  said  what  I  did.  Forget  it, 
Judy — forget  it,  Babs.  Come,  let  us  collect  the 
ferns." 

"  Suppose  we  find  some  white  heather,"  said 
Babs  eagerly. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LITTLE  PAIR.  1 3 

"  And  much  that's  worth,  too,"  replied  Miss 
Mills.     "  I    found    a    piece    last    summer.     I 

gave "     She  sighed,  and  the  corners  of  her 

mouth  drooped.      She  looked  as  if  she  were 
going  to  cry. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE    PEOPLE    WHO    GET    MARRIEDc 

Thou  wert  mine — all  mine  '.   .    .    . 

— Where  has  summer  fled  ? 
Sun  forgets  to  shine, 

Clouds  are  overhead  ; 
Blows  a  chilling  blast, 

Tells  my  frightened  heart 
That  the  hour  at  last 

Comes  when  we  must  part. 
Hurrying  moments,  stay. 

Leave  us  yet  alone  ! — 
All  the  world  grows  gray, 

Love,  when  thou  art  flown. 

Judy's  soul  swelled  within  her  when  she  heard 
the  music  still  sending  volumes  of  sound  out  of 
the  little  church.  Miss  Mills  had  not  spoken  all 
the  way  home.  Babs  had  chattered  without  a 
moment's  intermission.  Her  conversation  had 
been  entirely  about  birds  and  beasts  and  creep 
ing  things.  Judy  had  replied  with  rather  less 
interest  than  usual.  She  was  so  anxious  to 
hurry  home,  so  fearful  of  being  too  late.  Now 
it  was  all  right.  Hilda  was  still  in  the  church, 
and,  delightful — more  than  delightful — the  dis 
cordant  notes  of  the  choir  had  ceased,  and  only 

14 


THE  PEOPLE  WHO  GET  MARRIED.     15 

the  delicious  sounds  of  the  organ  were  borne  on 
the  breeze. 

"  Hilda  is  in  the  church,"  said  Judy,  pulling 
her  governess  by  her  sleeve.  "  Good-by,  Miss 
Mills;  good-by,  Babs." 

She  rushed  away,  scarcely  heeding  her  gov 
erness's  voice  as  it  called  after  her  to  be  sure  to 
be  back  at  the  Rectory  in  time  for  tea. 

The  church  doors  were  still  open,  but  the 
young  man  in  the  cricketing-flannels,  who  had 
stood  in  the  porch  when  Judy  had  started  on  her 
walk,  was  no  longer  to  be  seen.  The  little  girl 
stole  into  the  quiet  church  on  tip-toe,  crept  up  to 
her  sister  Hilda's  side,  and  lying  down  on  the 
floor,  laid  her  head  on  her  sister's  white  dress. 

Judy's  lips  kissed  the  hem  of  the  dress  two  or 
three  times;  then  she  lay  quiet,  a  sweet  expres 
sion  round  her  lips,  a  tranquil,  satisfied  light  in 
her  eyes.  Here  she  was  at  rest,  her  eager,  crav 
ing  heart  was  full  and  satisfied. 

"  You  dear  little  monkey!  "  said  Hilda,  paus 
ing  for  a  moment  in  her  really  magnificent  ren 
dering  of  one  of  Bach's  most  passionate  fugues. 
She  touched  the  child's  head  lightly  with  her 
hand  as  she  spoke. 

"  Oh,  don't  stop,  Hilda;  go  on.  I  am  so 
happy,"  whispered  Judy  back. 

Hilda  smiled,  and  immediately  resumed  the 


1 6  A     YOUXG  MUTINEER. 

music  which  thrilled  through  and  through  Judy's 
soul. 

Hilda  was  eighteen,  and  the  full  glory  and 
bloom  of  this  perfect  age  surrounded  her;  it 
shone  in  her  dark  red-brown  hair,  and  gleamed 
in  her  brown  eyes,  and  smiled  on  her  lips  and 
even  echoed  from  her  sweet  voice.  Hilda  would 
always  be  lovely  to  look  at,  but  she  had  the  ten 
der  radiance  of  early  spring  about  her  now. 
Judy  was  not  the  only  person  who  thought  her 
the  fairest  creature  in  the  world. 

While  she  was  playing,  and  the  influence  of 
the  music  was  more  and  more  rilling  her  face, 
there  came  a  shadow  across  the  church  door. 
The  shadow  lengthened  and  grew  longer,  and 
the  young  man,  whose  smile  Judy  had  ignored, 
came  softly  across  the  church  and  up  to  Hilda's 
side. 

"  Go  on  playing,"  he  said,  nodding  to  her. 
"  I  have  been  waiting  and  listening.  I  can  wait 
and  listen  a  little  longer  if  you  will  allow  me  to 
sit  in  the  church." 

"  I  shall  have  done  in  a  moment,"  said  Hilda. 
"  I  just  want  to  choose  something  for  the  final 
voluntary."  She  took  up  a  book  of  lighter 
music  as  she  spoke,  and  selecting  some  of 
Haydn's  sweet  and  gracious  melodies,  began  to 
play. 


THE  PEOPLE    WHO   GET  MARRIED.  I? 

Judy  stirred  restlessly.  Jasper  Quentyns 
came  closer,  so  close  that  his  shadow  fell  partly 
over  the  child  as  she  lay  on  the  ground,  and 
quite  shut  away  the  evening  sunlight  as  it 
streamed  over  Hilda's  figure.  Jasper  was  a 
musician  himself,  and  he  made  comments  which 
were  listened  to  attentively. 

Hilda  played  the  notes  as  he  directed  her. 
She  brought  added  volume  into  certain  pass 
ages,  she  rendered  the  light  staccato  notes  with 
precision. 

"  Oh,  you  are  spoiling  the  playing,"  said  Judy 
suddenly.  She  started  up,  knitting  her  black 
brows  and  glaring  angrily  at  Jasper  Quentyns. 

'  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  here  all  the 
time,  you  little'  puss,"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
thought  you  and  Miss  Mills  and  Babs  were 
miles  away  by  now.  Why,  what's  the  matter, 
child?  Why  do  you  frown  at  me  as  if  I  were  an 
ogre?" 

Hilda  put  her  arm  round  Judy's  waist.  The 
contact  of  Hilda's  arm  was  like  balm  to  the 
child;  she  smiled  and  held  out  her  hand  peni 
tently. 

"  Of  course  I  don't  think  you  are  an  ogre," 
she  said,  "  but  I  do  wish  you  would  let  Hilda 
play  her  music  her  own  way." 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  nonsense,  Judy,"  said  Hilda; 


1 8  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"you  quite  forget  that  Mr.  Quentyns  knows  a 
great  deal  more  about  music  than  I  do." 

"  He  doesn't  play  half  nor  quarter  as  well  as 
you,  for  all  that,"  replied  Judy,  with  emphasis. 

Hilda  bent  forward  and  kissed  her  little  sister 
on  her  forehead. 

"  We  won't  have  any  more  music  at  present," 
shes  aid,  "  it  is  time  for  us  to  return  to  the  house. 
You  are  going  to  dine  at  the  Rectory  this  even 
ing,  are  you  not,  Air.  Quentyns?  " 

"  If  you  will  have  me." 

"  Of  course  we  shall  all  be  delighted  to  have 
you." 

"  Hilda,"  said  Judy,  "  do  you  know  that  Mil 
dred  Anstruther  is  down  at  the  house  waiting  to 
see  you?  " 

A  faint  shadow  of  disappointment  flitted 
across  Hilda  Merton's  face — an  additional  wave 
of  color  mounted  to  Jasper  Quentyns'  brow. 
He  looked  at  Hilda  to  see  if  she  had  noticed  it; 
Hilda  turned  from  him  and  began  to  arrange  her 
music. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  we  mustn't  keep  Mildred 
waiting." 

"  What  has  she  come  for?  "  asked  Jasper,  as 
the  three  walked  down  the  shady  avenue. 

"  You  know  you  are  glad  to  see  her,"  replied 
Hilda  suddenly. 


THE  PEOPLE    WHO   GET  MARRIED.  19 

Something  in  her  tone  caused  Jasper  to  laugh 
and  raise  his  brows  in  mock  surprise.  Judy 
looked  eagerly  from  one  face  to  the  other.  Her 
heart  began  to  beat  with  fierce  dislike  to  Jasper. 
What  right  had  he  to  interfere  with  Hilda's 
music,  and  above  all  things,  what  right,  pray, 
had  he  to  bring  that  tone,  into  Hilda's  beloved 
voice? 

Judy  clasped  her  sister's  arm  with  a  tight 
pressure.  In  a  few  minutes  they  reached  the 
old-fashioned  and  cozy  'Rectory. 

The  Rector  was  pacing  about  in  the  pleasant 
evening  sunshine,  and  Mildred  Anstruther  was 
walking  by  his  side  and  chatting  to  him. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are,"  said  Mildred,  running  up 
to  her  friend  and  greeting  her  with  affection; 
"  and  you  have  come  too,  Mr.  Quentyns? — this 
is  a  delightful  surprise." 

"  You  had  better  run  into  the  house  now, 
Judy,"  said  Hilda.  "  Yes,  darling,  go  at  once." 

"  May  I  come  down  after  dinner  to-night, 
Hilda?  " 

"  You  look  rather  pale,  Judy,  and  as  we  are 
having  friends  to  dinner  it  may  be  best  for  you 
to  go  to  bed  early,"  said  another  voice.  It  pro 
ceeded  from  the  comfortable,  good-natured 
mouth  of  Aunt  Marjorie. 

"  No,  no,  Aunt  Maggie,  you  won't  send  me  to 


20  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

bed.  Hilda,  you'll  plead  for  me,  won't  you?" 
gasped  Judy. 

"  I  think  she  may  come  down  just  for  half  an 
hour,  auntie,"  said  Hilda,  smiling. 

"  Well,  child,  it  must  be  as  you  please;  of 
course  we  all  know  who  spoils  Judy." 

"  Of  course  we  all  know  who  loves  Judy,"  said 
Hilda.  "  Now  are  you  satisfied,  my  sweet? 
Run  away;  be  the  best  of  good  children.  Eat  a 
hearty  tea;  don't  think  of  any  trouble.  Oh, 
Judy!  what  a  frown  you  have  between  your 
brows;  let  me  kiss  it  away.  I'll  find  you  in  the 
drawing  room  after  dinner. 

"  And  you'll  come  and  talk  to  me  if  only  for 
one  minute.  Promise,  promise,  Hilda!  " 

"  Of  course  I  promise;  now  run  off." 

Judy  went  slowly  away.  She  thought  the 
grown  people  very  unkind  to  dismiss  her.  She 
was  interested  in  all  people  who  were  grown  up; 
she  had  not  a  great  deal  of  sympathy  with  chil 
dren — she  felt  that  she  did  not  quite  belong  to 
them.  The  depths  of  her  thoughts,  the  intense 
pathos  of  her  unsatisfied  affections  were  incom 
prehensible  to  most  children.  Hilda  understood 
her  perfectly,  and  even  Aunt  Marjorie  and  her 
father  were  more  agreeable  companions  than 
Miss  Mills  and  Babs. 

There  was  no  help  for  it,  however.     Judy  was 


THE  PEOPLE    WHO   GET  MARRIED.  21 

a  schoolroom  child,  and  back  to  the  schoolroom 
and  to  Miss  Mills'  dull  society  she  must  go. 
Swinging  her  hat  on  her  arm  she  walked  slowly 
down  the  long,  cool  stone  passage  which  led 
from  the  principal  hall  to  the  schoolroom 
regions.  A  maidservant  of  the  name  of  Susan 
hurried  past  her  with  the  tray  which  contained 
the  schoolroom  tea  in  her  hands. 

"  You  must  be  quick,  Miss  Judy,  I  am  bring 
ing  in  the  tea,"  she  said. 

Judy  frowned.  She  did  not  think  it  at  all 
necessary  for  Susan  to  remind  her  of  her  rather 
disagreeable  duties.  Instead  of  hurrying  to  the 
schoolroom  she  stood  still  and  looked  out  of  one 
of  the  windows.  The  words  Miss  Mills  had 
uttered  as  they  walked  across  the  fields  to  the 
wood  kept  returning  to  her  memory.  In  some 
curious,  undefined,  uncomfortable  way  she  con 
nected  them  with  her  sister  Hilda.  What  did 
they  mean?  Why  was  it  dreadful  to  be  engaged 
to  be  married?  Why  were  some  people  so 
fickle,  and  why  were  promises  broken?  Judy 
had  never  seen  Miss  Mills  so  excited  before. 

"  She  looked  quite  interesting  when  she  spoke 
in  that  voice,"  said  Judy  to  herself.  "  What  did 
she  mean?  what  could  she  mean?  She  said  it 
was  dreadful  to  be  married,  and  dreadful  to  be 
engaged.  I  think  I'll  go  and  ask  Mrs.  Sutton. 


22  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

I  don't  care  if  I  am  a  bit  late  for  tea.  The  worst 
Miss  Mills  will  do  is  to  give  me  some  poetry  to 
learn,  and  I  like  learning  poetry.  Yes,  I'll  go 
and  see  Mrs.  Sutton.  She  was  married  twice, 
so  she  must  have  been  engaged  twice.  She 
must  know  all — all  about  it.  She's  a  much  bet 
ter  judge  than  Miss  Mills,  who  never  was 
married  at  all." 

Judy  opened  a  baize  door,  which  shut  behind 
her  with  a  bang.  She  went  down  a  few  steps, 
and  a  moment  later  was  standing  in  a  comfort 
ably  furnished  sitting  room  which  belonged  to 
the  housekeeper,  Airs.  Sutton. 

Mrs.  Sutton  was  a  stout,  portly  old  lady.  She 
had  twinkling  good-humored  eyes,  a  mouth 
which  smiled  whenever  she  looked  at  a  child,  and 
a  constant  habit  of  putting  her  hand  into  her 
pocket  and  taking  out  a  lollipop.  This  lollipop 
found  its  way  straight  into  the  receptive  mouth 
of  any  small  creature  of  the  human  race  who 
came  in  her  way. 

"  Is  that  you,  Miss  Judy? "  she  said  now, 
turning  round  and  setting  down  her  own  cup  of 
strong  tea.  "  Come  along,  my  pet,  and  give  me 
a  kiss.  What  do  you  say  to  this?  "  She  held 
a  pink  sugar-stick  between  her  finger  and 
thumb.  "  I  suppose  you'll  want  another  for 
Miss  Babs,  bless  her!  " 


THE   PEOPLE    IV 110    GET  .MARRIED.  23 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  Sutton,"  replied  Judy. 
"  Will  you  lay  them  on  the  table,  please,  and 
I'll  take  them  when  I  am  going  away.  Sut 
ton,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  a  very  private 
matter." 

"  Well,  darling — bless  your  dear  heart,  your 
secrets  are  safe  enough  with  me." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  exactly  a  secret,  Sutton — it  is 
something  I  want  to  know.  Is  it  a  dreadful 
thing  to  be  engaged  to  be  married?  " 

"Bless  us  and  save  us!"  said  Mrs.  Sutton. 
She  flopped  down  again  on  her  seat,  and  her  red 
face  grew  purple.  "  Are  you  quite  well,  Miss 
Judy?  You  haven't  been  reading  naughty 
books  now,  that  you  shouldn't  open?  What 
could  put  such  thoughts  into  the  head  of  a  little 
miss  like  you?  " 

"  Please  answer  me,  Sutton,  it  is  most  impor 
tant.  Is  it  dreadful  to  be  engaged  to  be  mar 
ried?  and  are  people  fickle?  and  are  promises 
broken?  " 

"  But,  my  dear " 

"  Will  you  answer  me,  dear,  kind  Sutton?  " 

"  Well,  Miss  Judy,  well — anything  to  please 
you,  dearie — it  all  depends." 

"  What  does  it  depend  on?  " 

'  Taken  from  the  female  point  of  view,  it  de 
pends  on  the  sort  the  young  man  is;  but,  my 


24  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

darling,  it's  many  and  many  a  long  day  betoic 
you  need  worrit  yourself  with  such  matters." 

"  But  I  want  to  know,"  persisted  Judy. 
"  People  do  get  married.  You  were  married 
twice  yourself,  Sutton;  you  told  me  so  once." 

"  So  I  was  dear,  and  both  my  wedding  gowns 
are  in  a  trunk  upstairs.  My  first  was  a  figured 
sateen,  a  buff-colored  ground  with  red  flowers 
thrown  over  it.  My  second  was  a  gray  poplin. 
I  was  supposed  to  do  very  well  with  my  second 
marriage,  Miss  Judy." 

"  Then  you  were  twice  engaged,  and  twice 
married,"  said  Judy.  "  I  don't  want  to  hear 
about  the  wedding  gowns,  Sutton.  I  am  rather 
in  a  hurry.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  about  the 
other  things.  What  were  they  like — the  being 
engaged,  and  the  being  married?  Was  the  per 
son  fickle,  and  did  he  break  his  promise?  " 

For  some  reason  or  other  Mrs  Sutton's  face 
became  so  deeply  flushed  that  she  looked  quite 
angry. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Miss  Judy,"  she  said, 
"  someone  is  putting  thoughts  into  your  head 
what  oughtn't  to  do  it.  You  are  a  motherless 
child,  and  there's  someone  filling  your  head  with 
arrant  nonsense.  What  do  you  know  about 
engagements  and — and  disappointments,  and 
dreams  what  proves  but  early  mists  of  the  morn- 


THE  PEOPLE    WHO    GET  MARRIED.  25 

ing?  what  do  you  know  of  fickleness  and  broken 
promises?  There,  child,  you  won't  get  any  of 
that  bad  sort  of  knowledge  out  of  me.  Now 
you  run  away,  dearie.  There's  someone  been 
talking  about  what  they  oughtn't  to,  and  you 
has  no  call  to  listen,  my  pet.  There's  some  wed 
dings  happy,  and  there's  some  that  aint,  and 
that's  all  I  can  say.  Run  away  now,  Miss  Judy." 


CHAPTER  III. 

A     QUESTION     AND     AN     ANSWER. 

When  some  beloved  voice  that  was  to  you 
Both  sound  and  sweetness,  faileth  suddenly, 
And  silence  against  which  you  dare  not  cry 
Aches  round  you  like  a  strong  disease  and  new — 
What  hope  ?  what  help  ?  what  music  will  undo 
That  silence  to  your  sense  ? 

— E.  BAKRI:TT  BROWNING. 

Hilda  Merton  stood  in  a  rather  irresolute 
iashion  in  her  bedroom.  Several  people  were 
coming  to  dine  at  the  Rectory  to-night,  and  she, 
as  ihe  young  mistress  of  the  establishment, 
ought  to  be  in  the  drawing  room  even  now,  wait 
ing  to  receive  her  guests.  The  Rector  was  a 
very  wealthy  man.  and  all  those  luxuries  sur 
rounded  Hilda  which  are  the  portion  of  those 
who  are  gently  nurtured  and  well-horn.  Her 
maid  had  left  the  room,  the  young  girl's  simple 
white  dress  was  arranged  to  perfection,  her 
lovely  hair  was  coiled  becomingly  around  her 
shapely  head.  She  was  standing  before  her 
looking-g-'ass,  putting  the  final  touches  to  her 
toilet. 


A    QUESTION  AND  AN  ANSWER.  27 

For  some  reason  they  took  a  long  time  to  put. 
Hilda  gazed  into  the  reflection  of  her  own  pretty 
face  as  if  she  saw  it  not.  Her  brown  eyes  looked 
through  the  mirrored  eyes  in  the  glass  with  an 
almost  abstracted  expression.  Suddenly  a  smile 
flitted  across  her  face. 

"  I'll  do  it,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I'll  wear  his 
white  rose.  He  may  think  what  he  pleases. 
I — I  do  love  him  with  all  my  heart  and  soul." 

She  blushed  as  she  uttered  these  last  words, 
and  looked  in  a  half-frightened  way  across  the 
room,  as  if  by  chance  someone  might  have  over 
heard  her. 

The  next  moment  the  white  rose  was  snugly 
peeping  out  from  among  the  coils  of  her  rich 
hair.  Her  dress  was  fastened  at  the  throat  with 
a  pearl  brooch.  She  was  in  simple  white  from 
top  to  toe. 

"  How  late  you  are,  Hilda,"  said  Aunt  Mar- 
jorie.  "  I  was  getting  quite  nervous.  You 
know  I  hate  to  be  alone  in  the  drawing  room 
when  our  visitors  come;  and  really,  my  love, 
wrhat  a  simple  dress — nothing  but  a  washing- 
muslin.  Did  not  you  hear  your  father  say  that 
the  Dean  and  Mrs.  Sparks  were  coming  to  din 
ner  to-night?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did,  Aunt  Marjorie.  The  cook 
also  knows  that  the  Dean  is  coming  to  dine.. 


28  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Now  don't  fret,  there's  a  dear.  I  look  nice, 
don't  I?  that's  the  main  thing." 

"  Yes,  Hilda,  you  look  beautiful,"  said  Aunt 
Marjorie  solemnly;  "but  after  all,  when  you 
have  a  new  pink  chiffon  and — and " 

"  Hush,  auntie  dear,  I  see  the  Dean  stepping 
out  of  his  brougham." 

The  other  guests  followed  the  Dean  and  Mrs. 
Sparks  almost  immediately.  Dinner  was  an 
nounced,  and  the  party  withdrew  to  the  dining 
room. 

Hilda,  in  her  white  dress  with  her  happy  sun 
shiny  face,  was  the  principal  object  of  attraction 
at  this  dinner.  There  were  two  or  three  young 
men  present,  and  they  looked  at  her  a  good  deal. 
Jasper  Quentyns  favored  her  with  one  quick 
glance;  he  was  sitting  at  the  far  end  of  the  table, 
and  a  very  pretty  girl  wras  placed  at  his  side.  He 
saw  the  rose  in  Hilda's  hair,  and  his  heart  beat 
quickly;  his  spirits  rose  several  degrees,  and  he 
became  so  delightful  and  communicative  to  his 
neighbor  that  she  thought  him  quite  the  pleas- 
antest  and  handsomest  man  she  had  ever  met. 

Quentyns  did  not  glance  again  at  Hilda.  He 
was  satisfied,  for  he  felt  pretty  sure  that  a  cer 
tain  question  which  he  meant  to  ask  would  be 
answered  in  the  way  he  wished. 

The  dinner  came  to  an  end,  and  the  ladies 


A    QUESTION  AND  AN  ANSWER.  29 

withdrew  into  the  drawing  room.  Two  little 
figures  in  white  dresses  were  waiting  to  receive 
them.  Babs  trotted  everywhere,  and  was  uni 
versally  admired,  petted,  and  praised.  Judy 
stood  in  the  shadow  behind  one  of  the  curtains 
and  watched  Hilda. 

"  Come  out,  Judy,  and  be  sociable,"  said  her 
sister. 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk.  I  am  so  happy  here, 
Hilda,"  she  replied. 

"  I  do  like  spiders  when  they  are  very,  very 
fat,"  sounded  Babs'  voice  across  the  room. 

"  Oh,  you  droll  little  creature!  "  exclaimed  a 
lady  who  sat  near;  "  why,  I  should  fly  from  a 
spider  any  distance." 

"  Perhaps  you  like  earwigs  better,"  said  Babs. 

"  Earwigs,  they  are  horrors;  oh,  you  quaint, 
quaint  little  soul." 

Babs  did  not  care  to  be  called  a  quaint  little 
soul.  She  trotted  across  the  room  and  stood  by 
Judy's  side. 

"  There's  nobody  at  all  funny  here,"  she  said 
in  a  whisper.  "  I  wish  I  had  my  Kitty  Tiddli- 
winks  to  play  with;  I  don't  care  for  fine  ladies." 

"  It  is  time  for  you  to  go  to  bed,  Babs,"  said 
Judy. 

"  No,  it  isn't.  I  am  not  going  before  you  go. 
You  always  talk  as  if  I  were  a  baby,  and  I  aren't. 


3°  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Judy,  you  might  tell  me  now  what  it  is  to  be 
engaged  to  be  married." 

"  No,  I  can't  tell  you  now,"  said  Judy;  "  the 
gentlemen  are  coming  in,  and  we  mustn't  talk 
and  interrupt.  If  you  won't  go  to  bed  you  must 
stay  quiet.  You  know  if  Aunt  Marjorie  sees 
you  she'll  send  you  off  at  once;  now  they  are 
going  to  sing;  ah,  that  '11  be  jolly.  You  stay 
quiet,  Babs,  and  listen." 

Four  young  men  surrounded  the  piano.  Jas 
per  Quentyns  was  one;  Hilda  played  the  accom 
paniment.  The  four  voices  did  ample  justice  to 
the  beautiful  glee — "  Men  were  deceivers  ever." 
The  well-known  words  were  applauded  vigor 
ously,  the  applause  rose  to  an  encore.  Judy 
listened  as  if  fascinated. 

"  Sigh  no  more,  ladies,  sigh  no  more, 

Men  were  deceivers  ever  ; 
One  foot  in  sea  and  one  on  shore, 
To  one  thing  constant  never. 
Then  sigh  not  so, 
But  let  them  go.    .    ." 

"  Yes,  that's  the  right  thing  to  do,"  said  Judy, 
turning  round  and  fixing  her  bright  eyes  on 
Babs. 

"How  funny  you  look,"  said  Babs;  "you 
ought  to  go  to  bed." 

"  Come,  Barbara,  what  is  this  about?  "  said 


A    QUESTION  AND  AN  ANSWER.  31 

Aunt  Marjorie's  voice.  "  You  up  still — what 
can  Miss  Mills  be  thinking  of?  Now,  little  girls, 
it  is  nine  o'clock,  and  you  must  both  go  a\vay. 
Good-night,  Babs  dear;  good-night,  Judy." 

"  Mayn't  I  say  good-night  to  Hilda?  "  whis 
pered  Judy. 

"  No,  she's  busy;  run  awray  this  moment. 
Judy,  if  you  question  me  I  shall  have  to  appeal 
to  your  father.  Now,  my  loves,  go." 

The  little  girls  left  the  room,  Babs  com 
placently  enough,  Judy  unwillingly.  Babs  was 
sleepy,  and  was  very  glad  to  lay  her  little  head 
on  her  white  pillow;  but  sleep  was  very  far  away 
from  Judy's  eyes. 

The  little  girls'  bedroom  was  over  a  portion 
of  the  drawing  room.  They  could  hear  the 
waves  of  the  music  and  the  light  conversation 
and  the  gay  laughter  as  they  lay  in  their  cots. 
The  sounds  soon  mingled  \vith  Babs'  dreams, 
but  Judy  felt  more  restless  and  less  sleepy  each 
moment. 

Miss  Mills  had  entire  care  of  the  children. 
She  dressed  them  and  undressed  them  as  well  as 
taught  them.  She  had  left  them  now  for  the 
night.  Miss  Mills  at  this  moment  was  writing 
an  indignant  letter  in  reply  to  the  one  which  had 
so  excited  her  feelings  this  morning.  Her 
schoolroom  was  far  away.  Judy  knew  that  she 


32  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

was  safe.  If  she  got  out  of  bed,  no  one  would 
hear  her.  In  her  little  white  nightdress  she 
stole  across  the  moonlit  floor  and  crept  up  to 
the  window.  She  softly  unfastened  the  hasp 
and  flung  the  window  open.  She  could  see 
down  into  the  garden,  and  could  almost  hear  the 
words  spoken  in  the  drawing  room.  Two 
figures  had  stepped  out  of  the  conservatory  and 
side  by  side  were  walking  across  the  silvered 
lawn. 

Judy's  heart  beat  with  great  thumps — one  of 
these  people  was  her  sister  Hilda,  the  other  was 
Jasper  Quentyns.  They  walked  side  by  side, 
keeping  close  to  one  another.  Their  move 
ments  were  very  slow,  they  were  talking  almost 
in  whispers.  Hilda's  head  only  reached  to  Jas 
per's  shoulder;  he  was  bending  clown  over  her. 
Presently  he  took  her  hand.  Judy  felt  as  if  she 
should  scream. 

"  He's  a  horrid,  horrid,  wicked  man,"  she  said 
under  her  breath;  "  he's  a  deceiver.  '  Men  were 
decivers  ever.'  I  know  what  he  is.  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do?  what  shall  I  do?  Oh,  Hilda,  oh, 
Hilda,  darling,  you  shan't  go  through  the  misery 
of  being  engaged  and  then  being  married.  Oh, 
oh,  what  shall  I  do  to  save  you,  Hilda?  " 

Quentyns  and  Hilda  were  standing  still. 
They  had  moved  out  of  the  line  of  light  which 


A    QUESTION  AND  AN  ANSWER.  33 

streamed  from  the  drawing  room,  and  were 
standing  under  the  shadow  of  a  great  beech  tree. 
Judy  felt  that  she  could  almost  hear  their  words. 
From  where  she  leant  out  of  the  window  she 
could  certainly  see  their  actions.  Quentyns 
stooped  suddenly  and  kissed  Hilda  on  her  fore 
head;  Hilda  looked  up  at  him  and  laid  both  her 
hands  in  his.  He  folded  them  in  a  firm  pressure, 
and  again  stooping,  kissed  her  twice. 

Upstairs  in  the  nursery,  misery  was  filling  one 
little  heart  to  the  brim.  A  sob  caught  Judy's 
breath — she  felt  as  if  she  should  choke.  She 
dared  not  look  any  more,  but  drawing  down  the 
blind,  crept  back  into  bed  and  covered  her  head 
with  the  bed-clothes. 

In  the  drawing  room  the  guests  stopped  on, 
and  never  missed  the  two  who  had  stolen  away 
across  the  moonlit  lawn.  One  girl,  it  is  truer 
might  have  been  noticed  to  cast  some  anxious 
glances  toward  the  open  window,  and  the  com 
panion  who  talked  to  her  could  not  help  observ 
ing  that  she  scarcely  replied  to  his  remarks,  and 
was  not  fully  alive  to  his  witticisms;  but  the  rest 
of  the  little  world  jogged  on  its  way  merrily 
enough,  unconscious  of  the  Paradise  which  was 
so  close  to  them  in  the  Rectory  garden,  and  of 
the  Purgatory  which  one  little  soul  was  enduring 
upstairs. 


34  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  Hilda,"  said  Quentyns,  when  they  had  stood 
for  some  time  under  the  beech  tree,  and  had  said 
many  things  each  to  the  other,  and  felt  a  great 
deal  more  than  could  ever  be  put  into  words. 
"  Hilda,"  said  Quentyns,  and  all  the  poetry  of 
the  lovely  summer  evening  seemed  to  have  got 
into  his  eyes  and  filled  his  voice,  "  I  give  you  all, 
remember,  all  that  a  man  can  give.  I  give  you 
the  love  of  my  entire  heart.  My  present  is 
yours,  my  future  is  to  be  yours.  I  live  for  you, 
Hilda — I  shall  always  live  for  you.  Think  what 
that  means." 

"  I  can  quite  understand  it,"  replied  Hilda, 
"  for  I  also  live  for  you.  I  am  yours,  Jasper,  for 
now  and  always." 

"  And  I  am  a  very  jealous  man,"  said 
Quentyns.  "  When  I  give  all,  I  like  to  get 
all." 

Hilda  laughed. 

"  How  solemnly  you  speak,"  she  said,  step 
ping  back  a  pace,  and  an  almost  imperceptible 
jar  coming  into  her  voice.  Then  she  came  close 
again.  "  The  fault  you  will  have  to  find  with 
me  is  this,  Jasper,"  she  said,  looking  fully  at  him 
with  her  sweet  eyes;  "  I  shall  love  you,  if  any 
thing,  too  well.  No  one  can  ever  come  between 
us,  unless  it  is  dear  little  Judy." 

"  Judy!     Don't  you  think  you  make  too  much 


A    QUESTION  AND   AN  ANSWER.  35 

fuss  about  that  child?  She  is  such  a  morbid 
little  piece  of  humanity." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  You  don't  quite  understand 
her.  She  and  I  are  much  more  than  ordinary 
sisters  to  each  other.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  in  a 
certain  sense  Judy's  mother.  When  mother 
died  she  left  Judy  to  me.  Little  darling!  No 
one  ever  had  a  more  faithful  or  a  nobler  heart. 
You  must  get  fond  of  her  too,  for  my  sake;  won't 
you,  Jasper?  " 

"  I'll  do  anything  for  your  sake,  you  know 
that,  Hilda.  But  don't  let  us  talk  of  Judy  any 
more  just  now — let  us — 

"  Mr.  Quentyns,  is  that  your  voice  I  hear?  " 
called  Aunt  Marjorie,  from  the  drawing  room. 
"  And,  Hilda,  ought  you  to  be  out  with  the  dew 
falling  so  heavily?  " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CHANGES. 

Sing  on  !  we  sing  in  the  glorious  weather 

Till  one  steps  over  the  tiny  strand, 
So  narrow  in  sooth,  that  still  together 

On  either  brink  we  go  hand  in  hand. 

The  beck  grows  wider,  the  hands  must  sever, 
On  either  margin  our  songs  all  done  ; 

We  move  apart,  while  she  singeth  ever, 
Taking  the  course  of  the  stooping  sun. 

— JEAN  INGELOW. 

About  a  week  after  Hilda  Merton's  engage 
ment,  just  when  her  friends  were  full  of  the 
event,  and  congratulations  began  to  pour  in  on 
all  sides,  there  came  a  very  unexpected  blow  to 
the  inmates  of  the  peaceful  and  pretty  Rectory. 

The  parish  of  Little  Staunton  was  large  and 
scattered;  it  stretched  away  at  one  side  down  to 
the  sea,  at  another  it  communicated  with  great 
open  moors  and  tracts  of  the  outlying  lands  of 
the  New  Forest.  It  was  but  sparsely  peopled, 
and  those  parishioners  who  lived  in  small  cot 
tages  by  the  sea,  and  who  earned  their  living  as 
fishermen,  were  most  of  them  very  poor.  Mr. 

36 


CHANGES.  37 

Merton,  however,  was  one  of  the  ideal  sort  of 
rectors,  who  helped  his  flock  with  temporal  as 
well  as  spiritual  benefits.  The  stipend  which  he 
received  from  the  church  was  not  a  large  one, 
and  every  penny  of  it  was  devoted  to  the  necessi 
ties  of  his  poor  parishioners. 

There  came  an  awful  morning,  therefore, 
when  a  short  announcement  in  the  local  paper, 
and  a  long  letter  from  Air.  Merton's  lawyer,  ac 
quainted  him  with  the  fact  that  the  Downshire 
County  Bank  had  stopped  payment.  In  plain 
language,  Mr.  Merton,  from  being  a  wealthy 
man,  became  suddenly  a  very  poor  one. 

Aunt  Marjorie  cried  when  she  heard  the  news; 
Hilda's  face  turned  very  pale,  and  Judy  and 
Babs,  who  were  both  in  the  room  at  the  time,  felt 
that  sort  of  wonder  and  perplexity  which  chil 
dren  do  experience  when  they  know  something 
is  dreadfully  wrong,  but  cannot  in  the  least 
understand  what  it  is. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning  Hilda  went  to 
her  father  in  his  study. 

Her  face  was  very  white  as  she  opened  the 
door,  some  of  the  young  soft  lines  of  her  early 
youth  seemed  to  have  left  it;  her  beautiful  brown 
eyes  looked  in  a  heavy  sort  of  fashion  out  at  the 
world  from  their  dark  surroundings.  She  came 
up  to  her  father,  and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoul- 


3 8  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

der.  He  was  bending  over  his  desk,  busily 
writing. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Hilda? "  he  asked, 
glancing  up  at  her  with  a  quick  start,  and  an 
endeavor  to  make  his  voice  sound  as  usual. 

"  I — I  have  come,  father,  to  say  that  if  you 
like,  I — I  will  give  up  my  engagement  to  Jasper 
Ouentyns." 

Mr.  Merton  rose  from  his  seat  and  put  his  arm 
round  her  neck. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  "  it  is  my  comfort 
to-day  to  know  that  you,  at  least,  are  provided 
for.  Quentyns  is  fairly  well  off.  If  he  will  take 
you  without  any  fortune,  there  is  certainly  no 
reason  why  you  should  not  go  to  him." 

"  Money  can't  make  any  difference  to  Jasper," 
said  Hilda,  just  a  little  proudly,  although  her  lips 
trembled;  "  but  I — it  seems  wrong  that  I  should 
be  so  happy  when  the  rest  of  you  are  so  miser 
able." 

"  Tut,  tut!  "  said  the  Rector,  "  I  shall  get  over 
this  in  time.  I  own  that  just  now  the  blow  is  so 
severe  that  I  can  scarcely  quite  realize  it.  When 
I  opened  my  eyes  this  morning,  I  was  pleasantly 
conscious  that  I  was  the  possessor  of  a  private 
income  of  quite  two  thousand  a  year;  I  felt  this 
fact  in  the  comforts  that  surrounded  me,  and  the 
ease  which  rilled  my  life.  Except  that  small  sti- 


CHANGES.  39 

pend  which  is  represented  by  my  living,  and 
which  I  have  always  hitherto  devoted  to  the 
poor  of  the  flock,  I  am  now  reduced  to  nothing 
a  year.  My  poor  must  divide  my  money  with 
me  in  future,  that  is  all;  I  don't  intend  to  be  mis 
erable  when  I  get  accustomed  to  the  change, 
Hilda.  I  must  dismiss  most  of  the  servants, 
and  give  up  the  carriage  and  horses,  and  live  as 
a  poor  man  instead  of  a  rich  one;  but  I  owe  no 
man  anything,  my  dear,  and  I  have  not  the  least 
doubt  there  is  a  certain  zest  in  poverty  which  will 
make  the  new  order  of  things  agreeable  enough 
when  once  I  get  used  to  it." 

The  tears  gathered  slowly  in  Hilda's  eyes. 

"  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  quite  bear  it,"  she 
said,  with  a  sob. 

The  Rector,  who  was  always  rather  absent- 
minded,  and  had  a  dreamy  way  of  looking  far 
ahead  even  when  he  was  most  roused,  scarcely 
noticed  Hilda's  tears.  He  talked  on  in  a  mo 
notonous  sort  of  voice: 

"  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  that  poverty  has 
its  alleviations.  I  have  heard  it  more  than  once 
remarked  that  the  hand-to-mouth  existence  is 
the  most  stimulating  in  the  world.  I  should  not 
be  surprised,  Hilda,  if  my  sermons  took  a  turn 
for  the  better  after  this  visitation.  I  have 
preached  to  my  flock,  year  in,  year  out,  that  the 


4°  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

mysterious  ways  of  Providence  are  undoubtedly 
the  best — I  have  got  to  act  up  to  my  preaching 
now,  that  is  all." 

The  Rector  sat  down  again  and  continued  to 
write  a  very  unbusiness-like  letter  to  his  lawyer; 
Hilda  stood  and  looked  at  him  with  a  frown  be 
tween  her  brows,  and  then  went  slowly  out  of  the 
room. 

Aunt  Marjorie,  who  had  cried  herself  nearly 
sick,  and  whose  eyes  between  their  swollen  lids 
were  scarcely  visible,  came  to  meet  her  as  she 
alked  across  the  hall. 

"  Oh,  my  darling,"  she  said,  with  a  fresh  sob, 
"  how  can  I  bear  to  look  at  you  when  I  think  of 
all  your  young  life  blighted  in  a  moment!  Oh, 
those  wicked  Bank  Directors.  They  deserve 
hanging!  yes,  I  should  hang  them  one  and  all. 
And  so  you  have  been  with  my  poor  brother?  I 
would  not  venture  near  him.  How  is  he  taking 
it,  Hilda?  Is  he  quite  off  his  head,  poor,  dear 
man?" 

"  How  do  you  think  my  father  would  take  a 
blow  of  this  kind?  "  said  Hilda.  "  Come  into 
the  drawing  room,  Auntie.  Oh,  Auntie  dear, 
do  try  to  stop  crying.  You  don't  know  what 
father  is.  Of  course  I  can't  pretend  to  under 
stand  him,  but  he  is  quite  noble — he  is  splendid; 
he  makes  me  believe  in  religion.  A  man  must 


CHANGES.  41 

be  very,  very  good  to  talk  as  father  has  just 
done." 

"Poor  Samuel!"  said  Aunt  Marjorie.  "I 
knew  that  he  would  take  this  blow  either  as  a 
saint  or  as  an  idiot — I  don't  know  which  is  the 
most  trying.  You  see,  Hilda,  my  love,  your 
father  has  never  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
petty  details  of  housekeeping.  This  parish 
brings  in  exactly  three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
a  year;  how  are  we  to  pay  the  wages  of  nine 
servants,  and  how  are  the  gardeners  to  be  paid, 
and  the  little  girls'  governess,  and — and  how  is 
this  beautiful  house  to  be  kept  up  on  a  pittance 
of  that  sort?  Oh,  dear;  oh,  dear!  Your  father 
will  just  say  to  me,  '  I  know,  Marjorie,  that  you 
will  do  your  best,'  and  then  he'll  forget  that  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  money;  but  I  shall  never  be 
able  to  forget  it,  Hilda.  Oh,  dear;  oh,  dear!  I 
do  think  saintly  men  are  awful  trials." 

"  But  you  said  just  now  you  thought  he  would 
be  off  his  head.  You  ought  to  be  very  thankful, 
Aunt  Maggie,  that  he  is  taking  things  as  he  is. 
Of  course  the  servants  must  go  away,  and  the 
establishment  must  be  put  on  an  altogether  new 
footing.  You'll  have  to  walk  instead  of  ride  in 
future,  but  I  don't  suppose  Judy  and  Babs  will 
much  care,  and  I " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Aunt  Marjorie,  "  you  will  be 


42  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

in  your  new  house  in  London,  new-fangled  with 
your  position,  and  highly  pleased  and  proud  to 
put  Mrs.  before  your  name,  and  you'll  forget  all 
about  us.  Of  course  I  am  pleased  for  you,  but 
you're  just  as  bad  as  your  father  when  you  talk 
in  that  cool  fashion  about  dismissing  the  serv 
ants,  and  when  you  expect  an  old  lady  like  me 
to  tramp  all  over  the  place  on  my  feet." 

"  I  told  father  that  if  he  wished  I  would  break 
off  my  engagement." 

Aunt  Marjorie  dried  her  eyes  when  her  niece 
made  this  speech,  and  looked  at  her  fixedly. 

"  I  do  think,"  she  said,  "  that  you're  a  greater 
fool  even  than  poor  Samuel.  Is  not  your  en 
gagement  to  a  nice,  gentlemanly,  clever  man 
like  Jasper  Quentyns  the  one  ray  of  brightness 
in  this  desolate  day?  You,  child,  at  least  are 
provided  for." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  think  that  I  care  about  being 
provided  for  at  this  juncture?  "  answered  Hilda, 
knitting  her  brows  once  again  in  angry  per 
plexity. 

She  went  away  to  her  own  room,  and  sitting 
before  her  desk,  wrote  a  long  letter  to  her  lover. 

Quentyns  had  been  called  to  the  Bar,  and  was 
already  beginning  to  receive  "  briefs." 

His  income  was  by  no  means  large,  however, 
and  although  he  undoubtedly  loved  Hilda  for  her 


CHANGES.  4J 

own  sake,  he  might  not  have  proposed  an  imme 
diate  marriage  had  he  not  believed  that  his 
pretty  bride  would  not  come  to  him  penniless. 

Hilda  sat  with  her  pen  in  her  hand,  looking 
down  at  the  blank  sheet  of  paper. 

By  the  same  post  which  had  brought  the  law 
yer's  dreadful  letter  there  had  come  two  closely- 
written  sheets  from  Jasper.  He  wanted  Hilda 
to  marry  him  in  the  autumn,  and  he  had  already 
begun  house-hunting. 

"  We  might  find  it  best  to  take  a  small  flat  for 
a  year,"  he  had  written,  "  but  if  you  would  rather 
have  a  house,  darling,  say  so.  Some  people 
don't  approve  of  flats.  They  say  they  are  not 
so  wholesome.  One  misses  the  air  of  the  stair 
case,  and  there  is  a  certain  monotony  in  living 
altogether  on  one  floor  which  may  not  be  quite 
conducive  to  health.  On  the  other  hand  flats 
are  compact,  and  one  knows  almost  at  a  glance 
what  one's  expenses  are  likely  to  be.  I  have 
been  consulting  Rivers — you  know  how  often  I 
have  talked  to  you  of  my  friend  Archie  Rivers — 
and  he  thinks  on  the  whole  that  a  flat  would  be 
advisable;  we  avoid  rates  and  taxes  and  all  those 
sort  of  worries,  and  if  we  like  to  shut  up  house 
for  a  week,  and  run  dowp  to  the  Rectory,  why 
there  we  are,  you  know;  for  the  house-porter 
sees  to  our  rooms,  and  we  run  no  risk  from 


44  A    YOU  KG  MUTINEER. 

burglars.  But  what  do  you  say  yourself,  dar 
ling,  for  that  is  the  main  point?  " 

Hilda  had  read  this  letter  with  a  beating  heart 
and  a  certain  pleasant  sense  of  exhilaration  at 
breakfast  that  morning,  but  then  this  was  before 
the  blow  came — before  Aunt  Marjorie's  shriek 
had  sounded  through  the  room,  and  before 
Hilda  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  father's  face 
with  the  gray  tint  spreading  all  over  it,  before 
she  had  heard  his  tremulous  words: 

"  Yes,  Marjorie!  God  help  us!  We  are 
ruined." 

Hilda  read  the  letter  now  with  very  different 
feelings;  somehow  or  other  all  the  rose  light  had 
gone  out  of  it.  She  was  a  very  inexperienced 
girl  as  far  as  money  matters  were  concerned. 
Until  to-day  money  seemed  to  have  little  part  or 
lot  in  her  life;  it  had  never  stirred  her  nature  to 
its  depths,  it  had  kindly  supplied  her  with  neces 
sities  and  luxuries;  it  had  gilded  everything,  but 
she  had  never  known  where  the  gilt  came  from. 
When  she  engaged  herself  to  Jasper,  he  told  her 
that,  for  the  present  at  least,  he  was  a  compara 
tively  poor  man;  he  had  three  hundred  a  year  of 
his  own.  This  he  assured  her  was  a  mere  baga 
telle,  but  as  he  was  almost  certain  to  earn  as 
much  more  in  his  profession,  and  as  Hilda  had 
money,  he  thought  they  might  marry  if  she  did 


CHANGES.  45 

not  mind  living  very  prudently.  Of  course 
Hilda  did  not  mind — she  knew  nothing-  at  all  of 
the  money  part.  The  whole  thing  meant  love 
and  poetry  to  her,  and  she  disliked  the  word 
money  coming  into  it. 

To-day,  however,  things  looked  different. 
For  the  first  time  she  got  a  glimpse  of  Tragedy. 
How  mean  of  it,  how  horrible  of  it  to  come  in 
this  guise!  She  pressed  her  hand  to  her  fore 
head,  and  wondered  what  her  lover  could  mean 
when  he  talked  of  rates  and  taxes,  and  asked  her 
to  decide  between  a  flat  and  a  house. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  she  murmured 
to  herself.  "  Perhaps  we  shall  not  be  married 
at  all  at  present.  Perhaps  Jasper  will  say  we 
can't  afford  it.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  answer  his 
question  about  the  flat — but  I  don't  know  what 
to  say.  I  thought  we  might  have  had  a  cottage 
somewhere  in  one  of  the  suburbs — with  a  little 
garden,  and  that  I  might  have  kept  fowls,  and 
have  had  heaps  and  heaps  of  flowers.  Surely 
fowls  would  be  economical,  but  I  am  sure  I  can't 
say.  I  really  don't  know  anything  whatever 
about  the  matter." 

"  Why  are  you  talking  in  that  funny  way  half- 
aloud  to  yourself,  Hilda?"  asked  a  little  voice 
with  a  sad  inflection  in  it. 

Hilda  slightly  turned  her  head  and  saw  that 


4$  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Judy  had  softly  opened  the  door  of  her  bedroom, 
and  was  standing  in  the  entrance. 

Judy  had  an  uncertain  manner  about  her 
which  was  rather  new  to  her  character,  and  her 
face  had  a  somewhat  haggard  look,  unnatural 
and  not  pleasant  to  see  in  so  young  a  child. 

"  Oh,  pet,  is  that  you?  "  said  Hilda.  "  Come 
and  give  me  a  kiss — I  am  just  longing  for  you — 
you're  the  person  of  all  others  to  consult.  Come 
along  and  sit  down  by  me.  Now,  now — you 
don't  want  to  strangle  me,  do  you?  " 

For  Judy  had  rushed  upon  her  sister  like  a 
little  whirlwind,  her  strong  childish  arms  were 
flung  with  almost  ferocious  tightness  round 
Hilda's  neck,  the  skirt  of  her  short  frock  had 
swept  Jasper's  letter  to  the  floor,  and  even  upset 
an  ink-pot  in  its  voluminous  sweep. 

"  Oh,  oh!  "  said  Hilda,  "  I  must  wipe  up  this 
mess.  There,  Judy,  keep  back  for  a  moment; 
it  will  get  upon  the  carpet,  and  spoil  it  if  we  are 
not  as  quick  as  possible.  Hand  me  that  sheet 
of  blotting-paper,  dear.  There  now,  that  is  bet 
ter — I  have  stopped  the  stream  from  descending 
too  far.  Why,  Judith,  my  dear,  you  have  tears 
in  your  eyes.  You  don't  suppose  I  care  about 
the  ink  being  spilt  when  I  get  a  hug  like  that 
from  you." 

"  I  wasn't  crying  about  the  ink,"  said  Judy; 


CHANGES.  47 

*  what's  ink!  The  tears  came  because  I  am  so 
joyful." 

"You  joyful?  and  to-day?"  said  Hilda. 
"  You  know  what  has  happened,  don't  you, 
Judy?  " 

"  We  are  poor  instead  of  rich,"  said  Judy; 
"  what's  that?  Oh,  I  am  so  happy — I  am  so 
awfully  happy  that  I  scarcely  know  what  to  do." 

"  What  a  queer  little  soul  you  are!  Now, 
now,  am  I  to  be  swept  up  in  another  embrace?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  let  me,  let  me — I  haven't  kissed  you 
like  this  since  you,  you — you  got  engaged." 

"  In  what  a  spiteful  way  you  say  that  last 
word,  Judy;  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  we  have 
scarcely  kissed  each  other  since.  But  whose 
fault  was  that?  Not  mine,  I  am  sure.  I  was 
quite  hungry  for  one  of  your  kisses,  jewel,  and 
now  that  I  have  got  it  I  feel  ever  so  much  better. 
Sit  down  by  me,  and  let  us  talk.  Judy,  you  are 
a  very  wise  little  darling,  aren't  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  If  you  think  so,  you  darling, 
I  suppose  I  am." 

"  I  do  think  so.  I  have  had  a  letter  from 
Jasper.  I  want  to  talk  over  something  he  says 
in  it  with  you.  Judy  dear,  he  is  such  a  noble 
fellow." 

Judy  shut  up  her  firm  lips  until  they  looked 
like  a  straight  line  across  her  face. 


48  A     YOU  KG  MUTINEER. 

"  He's  such  a  noble  fellow,"  repeated  Hilda, 
"  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  you  ought  to  be  to 
have  the  prospect  of  calling  a  man  like  Jasper 
your  brother;  he'll  be  a  great  help  to  you,  Judy, 
by  and  by." 

"  No,  he  won't — I  don't  want  him  to  be,"  said 
Judy  viciously. 

"  Why,  I  declare,  I  do  believe  the  dear  is  jeal 
ous;  but  now  to  go  on.  Jasper  has  written  to 
me  on  a  most  important  subject.  Now,  if  I  con 
sult  you  about  it  you  won't  ever,  ever  tell,  will 
you?" 

"  No,  of  course  I  won't.  Was  it  about  that 
you  were  muttering  to  yourself  when  I  came  into 
the  room?  " 

"  You  funny  puss;  yes,  I  was  talking  the  mat 
ter  over  to  myself.  Jasper  is  looking  out  for  a 
house  for  us." 

"  He  isn't.     It's  awfully  cheeky  of  him." 

"  My  dear  Judy,  it  would  be  much  more 
cheeky  to  ask  me  to  go  and  live  in  the  street  with 
him.  We  must  have  some  residence  after  we 
are  married — mustn't  we?  Well,  darling,  now 
you  must  listen  very  attentively;  he  has  asked 
me  whether  it  would  be  best  for  us  to  live  in  a 
little  house  of  our  own " 

"  Why  a  little  house?  he  ought  to  take  you  to 
a  palace." 


CHANGES.  49 

"  Don't  interrupt;  we  shall  be  poor  people, 
quite  a  poor  couple,  Jasper  and  I.  Now,  Judy, 
just  try  and  get  as  wise  as  a  Solon.  He  wants  to 
know  whether  I  would  rather  live  in  a  little 
house  or  a  flat." 

"  What's  a  flat,  Hilda?  " 

"  I  don't  quite  know  myself;  but  I  believe  a 
flat  consists  of  several  rooms  on  one  floor  shut 
away  from  the  rest  of  the  house  by  a  separate 
hall  door.  Jasper  rather  approves  of  a  flat,  be 
cause  he  says  there  won't  be  any  rates  and  taxes. 
It's  very  silly,  but  though  I  am  a  grown-up  girl, 
I  don't  exactly  know  what  rates  and  taxes  are — 
do  you?  " 

"  No,  but  I  can  ask  Miss  Mills." 

"  I  don't  expect  she'd  know  anything  about 
them;  it  seems  so  stupid  to  have  to  write  back 
and  tell  Jasper  that  I  don't  understand  what  he 
means." 

"  Aunt  Marjorie  would  know,"  said  Judy. 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  consult  her,  pet.  I  think 
I'd  better  leave  it  to  Jasper  to  decide." 

Judy  looked  very  wise  and  interested  now. 

"  Why  don't  you  say  you'd  rather  go  into  a 
little  house?"  she  said;  "it  sounds  much  more 
interesting.  A  flat  is  an  ugly  name,  and  I  am 
quite  sure  it  must  be  an  ugly  place." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Hilda,  pausing  and  look- 


SO  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

ing  straight  before  her  with  her  pretty  brows 
knit.  "  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear!  I  wonder  what  is 
right.  And  a  little  house  might  have  a  garden 
too,  mightn's  it,  Judy?  " 

"  Of  course,  and  a  fowl-house  and  a  cote  for 
your  pigeons." 

"  To  be  sure;  and  when  you  come  to  see  me, 
you  should  have  a  strip  of  garden  to  dig  in  aH  for 
yourself." 

"  Oh,  should  I  really  come  to  see  you,  Hilda? 
Miss  Mills  said  that  you  wouldn't  want  me — that 
you  wouldn't  be  bothered  with  me." 

''  That  I  wouldn't  be  bothered  with  you? 
Why,  I  shall  wish  to  have  you  with  me  quite  half 
the  time.  Now,  now,  am  I  to  be  strangled 
again?  Please,  Judy,  abstain  from  embracing, 
and  tell  me  whether  we  are  to  have  a  flat  or  a 
•cottage." 

"  Of  course  you  are  to  have  a  cottage,  with 
the  garden  and  the  fowl-house." 

"  I  declare  I  think  I'll  take  your  advice,  you 
little  clear.  I'll  write  and  tell  Jasper  that  I'd 
much  rather  have  a  cottage.  Now,  who  is  that 
knocking  at  the  door?  Run,  Judy,  and  see 
what's  wanted." 

Judy  returned  in  a  moment  with  a  telegram. 

Hilda  tore  it  open  with  fingers  that  slightly 
trembled. 


CHANGES.  5* 

"Oh,  how  joyful,  how  joyful!"  she  ex 
claimed. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Judy. 

"  Jasper  is  coming — my  dear,  dear  Jasper. 
See  what  he  says — '  Have  heard  the  bad  news — 
my  deepest  sympathy — expect  me  this  evening.' 
Then  I  needn't  write  after  all.  Judy,  Judy,  I 
agree  with  you;  I  feel  quite  happy^  even  though 
it  is  the  dreadful  day  when  the  blow  has  been 
struck." 

Judy  did  not  say  anything,  she  rose  languidly 
to  her  feet. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  asked  Hilda. 

"  For  a  walk." 

"  Why  so?  " 

"  Miss  Mills  said  that  even  though  we  were 
poor  I  was  to  take  the  fresh  air,"  replied  the 
child  in  a  prim  little  voice,  out  of  which  all  the 
spirit  had  gone. 

She  kissed  Hilda,  but  no  longer  in  a  raptur 
ous,  tempestuous  fashion,  and  walked  soberly 
out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN    A    GARDEN. 

I  go  like  one  in  a  dream,  unbidden  my  feet  know  the  way, 
To  that  garden  where  love  stood  in  blossom  with  the  red  and 
white  hawthorn  of  May. 

— MATHILDE  BLIND. 

Aunt  Marjorie  had  cried  until  she  could  cry 
no  longer.  Hers  was  a  slighter  nature  than 
either  Mr.  Merton's  or  Hilda's.  In  conse 
quence,  perhaps,  she  was  able  to  realize  the  blow 
which  had  come  upon  them  more  vividly  and 
more  quickly  than  either  her  brother  or  niece. 

Aunt  Marjorie  had  taken  a  great  pride  in  the 
pretty,  well-ordered  house.  She  was  a  capable, 
a  kind,  and  a  considerate  mistress.  Her  serv 
ants  worked  well  under  her  guidance.  She  was 
set  in  authority  over  them;  they  liked  her  rule, 
and  acknowledged  it  with  cheerful  and  willing 
service. 

No  one  could  give  such  perfect  little  dinner 
parties  as  Aunt  Marjorie.  She  had  a  knack  of 
finding  out  each  of  her  guests'  particular  weak 
nesses  with  regard  to  the  dinner-table.  She  was 
no  diplomatist,  and  her  conversation  was  con- 


IN  A    GARDEN.  53 

sidered  prosy;  but  with  Mr.  Merton  to  act  the 
perfect  host  and  to  lead  the  conversation  into 
the  newest  intellectual  channels,  with  Hilda  to 
look  sweet  and  gracious  and  beautiful,  and  with 
Aunt  Marjorie  to  provide  the  dinner,  nothing 
could  have  been  a  greater  success  than  the  little 
party  which  took  place  on  an  average  once  a 
week  at  the  sociable  Rectory. 

Now  all  these  things  were  at  an  end.  The 
servants  must  go;  the  large  house — which  had 
been  added  to  from  time  to  time  by  the  Rector 
until  it  had  lost  all  similitude  to  the  ordinary 
small  and  cozy  Rectory — the  great  house  must 
remain  either  partly  shut  up  or  only  half  cleaned. 
There  must  be  no  more  dinner-parties,  and  no 
nice  carriage  for  Aunt  Marjorie  to  return  calls 
in.  The  vineries  and  conservatories  must  re 
main  unheated  during  the  winter;  the  gardeners 
must  depart.  Weeds  must  grow  instead  of 
flowers. 

Alack,  and  alas!  Aunt  Marjorie  felt  like  a 
shipwrecked  mariner,  as  she  sat  now  in  the 
lovely  drawing  room  and  looked  out  over  the 
summer  scene. 

With  her  mind's  eye  she  was  gazing  at  some 
thing  totally  different — she  was  seeing  the  beau 
tiful  place  as  it  would  look  in  six  months'  time; 
she  saw  with  disgust  the  rank  and  obnoxious 


54  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

weeds,  the  empty  grate,  the  dust-covered  orna 
ments. 

"  It  is  worse  for  us  than  it  would  be  for  ordi 
nary  people,"  she  said  half  aloud.  "  If  we  were 
just  ordinary  people,  we  could  leave  here  and  go 
into  a  tiny  cottage  where  our  surroundings 
would  be  in  keeping  with  our  means;  but  of 
course  the  Rector  must  live  in  the  Rectory — at 
least  I  suppose  so.  Dear,  dear!  how  sudden  this 
visitation  has  been — truly  may  it  be  said  that  '  all 
flesh  is  grass.' ' 

Aunt  Marjorie  had  a  way  of  quoting  sentences 
which  did  not  at  all  apply  to  the  occasion;  these 
quotations  always  pleased  her,  however,  and  a 
slow  smile  now  played  round  her  lips. 

The  drawing-room  door  was  opened  noisily,, 
and  a  fat  little  figure  rushed  across  the  room  and 
sprang  into  her  arms. 

"  Is  that  you,  Babs?  "  she  said.  She  cuddled 
the  child  in  a  close  embrace,  and  kissed  her 
smooth,  cool  cheek  many  times. 

"  Yes,  of  course  it's  me,"  said  Babs,  in  her 
matter-of-fact  voice.  "  Your  eyes  are  quite  red, 
Auntie.  Have  you  been  crying?  " 

"  We  have  had  dreadful  trouble,  my  darling — 
poor  Auntie  feels  very  miserable — it  is  about 
father.  Your  dear  father  has  lost  all  his  money, 
my  child." 


IN  A    GARDEN.  55 

"  Miss  Mills  told  me  that  half  an  hour  ago," 
said  Babs;  "that's  why  I  wanted  to  see  you, 
Auntie.  I  has  got  half  a  sovereign  in  the 
Savings  Bank.  I'll  give  it  to  father  if  he 
wants  it." 

"  You're  a  little  darling,"  said  Aunt  Marjorie, 
kissing  her  again. 

"  There's  Judy  going  across  the  garden,"  said 
Babs.  "  Look  at  her,  she  has  her  shoulders 
hunched  up  to  her  ears.  She's  not  a  bit  of  good; 
she  won't  play  with  me  nor  nothing." 

"That  child  doesn't  look  at  all  well,"  said 
Aunt  Marjorie. 

She  started  to  her  feet,  putting  Babs  on  the 
floor.  A  new  anxiety  and  a  new  interest  ab 
sorbed  her  mind. 

"  Judy,  Judy,"  she  called;  "  come  here,  child. 
I  have  noticed  for  the  last  week,"  she  said,  speak 
ing  her  thoughts  aloud,  "  that  Judy  has  black 
lines  under  her  eyes,  and  a  dragged  sort  of  look 
about  her.  What  can  it  mean?  " 

"  She  cries  such  a  lot,"  said  Babs  in  her  un 
troubled  voice.  "  I  hear  her  when  she's  in  bed 
at  night.  I  thought  she  had  she-cups,  but  it 
wasn't,  it  was  sobs." 

"  She-cups — what  do  you  mean,  child?  Judy, 
come  here,  darling." 

"  She-cups,"  repeated  Babs.     "  Some  people 


5  <>  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

call  them  he-cups;  but  I  don't  when  a  girl  has 
them." 

Judy  came  slowly  up  to  the  window1. 

"  Where  were  you  going,  my  pet?  "  asked 
Aunt  Marjorie. 

"  Only  for  a  walk,"  she  answered. 

"  A  walk  all  by  yourself?  How  pale  you  are, 
dearie.  Have  you  a  headache?  " 

"  No,  Auntie." 

Aunt  Marjorie  pulled  Judy  forward.  She  felt 
her  forehead  and  looked  at  her  tongue,  and  put 
her  in  such  a  position  that  she  could  gaze  down 
into  her  throat. 

Not  being  able  to  detect  anything  the  mat 
ter,  she  thought  it  best  to  scold  her  niece  a 
little. 

"  Little  girls  oughtn't  to  walk  slowly  and  to 
be  dismal,"  she  said.  "  It  is  very  wrong  and  un 
grateful  of  them.  They  ought  to  run  about  and 
skip  and  laugh.  Work  while  you  work,  and 
play  while  you  play.  That  was  the  motto  when 
I  was  a  little  girl.  Now,  Judy,  love,  go  out  with 
Babs  and  have  a  good  romp.  You  had  better 
both  of  you  go  to  the  hay-field,  for  it  might  dis 
tract  your  poor  father  to  hear  your  two  merry 
voices.  Run,  my  dears,  run;  make  yourselves 
scarce." 

"  Come,  Babs,"  said  Judy.     She  held  out  her 


IN  A    GARDEN.  57 

hand  to  her  little  sister,  and  the  two  went  away 
together. 

"  Do  you  know,  Judy,"  said  Babs,  the  mo 
ment  they  were  out  of  Aunt  Marjorie's  hearing, 
"  that  I  saw  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago  a  great  big 
spider  in  the  garden  catching  a  wasp.  He  rolled 
the  poor  wasp  round  and  round  with  his  web 
until  he  made  him  into  a  ball." 

"  And  did  you  leave  that  poor  wasp  to  die?  " 
asked  Judy,  keen  interest  and  keen  anger  com 
ing  into  her  voice. 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  said  Babs.  "  I  took  him  away 
from  the  spider.  I  wouldn't  be  kite  so  cruel  as 
to  let  the  poor  thing  die;  but  I  s'pect  he'll  die 
all  the  same,  for  he  can't  get  out  of  the  ball  that 
he's  in." 

"  Poor  darling!  "  said  Judy.  "  Let's  go  and 
find  him  and  try  to  get  the  web  off  him.  Do 
you  know  where  he  is,  Babs?  " 

"  I  put  him  on  an  ivy  leaf  on  the  ground,"  said 
Babs,  "  under  the  yew-tree  down  there.  I  can 
find  him  in  a  minute." 

"  Well,  let's  go  and  save  him  as  quickly  as 
possible." 

The  two  children  rushed  with  eagerness  and 
vigor  down  the  slops. 

Aunt  Marjorie  could  see  them  as  they  disap 
peared  out  of  sight. 


5 8  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

She  turned  to  weep  and  bewail  herself  once 
more,  and  Judy  and  Babs  began  industriously  to 
look  for  the  wasp. 

They  were  busily  engaged  on  their  hands  and 
knees  searching  all  over  the  ground  for  the  iden 
tical  ivy  leaf  where  Babs  had  placed  the  rescued 
insect,  when  a  voice  sounded  in  their  ears,  and 
Judy  raised  her  head  to  see  pretty  Mildred  An- 
struther  standing  by  her  side. 

Mildred  was  one  of  the  belles  of  the  county; 
her  hair  was  as  bright  as  a  sunbeam,  her  eyes  as 
blue  as  a  summer  sky,  her  full  lips  were  red,  her 
cheeks  had  the  bloom  of  the  peach  upon  them. 
Mildred  was  a  well-grown  girl,  with  a  largely 
and  yet  gracefully  developed  figure. 

In  addition  to  her  personal  charms  she  had  a 
considerable  fortune.  It  went  without  saying, 
therefore,  that  she  was  greatly  admired. 

Mildred  had  often  been  the  talk  of  Little 
Staunton;  her  numerous  flirtations  had  caused 
head-shakings  and  dismal  croaks  from  many  of 
the  old  maids  of  the  neighborhood.  The  sterner 
sex  had  owned  to  heart-burnings  in  connection 
with  her,  for  Mildred  could  flirt  and  receive  any 
amount  of  attention  without  giving  her  heart  in 
return.  She  was  wont  to  laugh  at  love  affairs, 
and  had  often  told  Hilda  that  the  prince  to 


IN  A    GARDEN.  59 

whom  alone  she  would  give  her  affections  was 
scarcely  likely  to  appear. 

"  The  time  when  gods  used  to  walk  upon  the 
earth  is  over,  my  dear  Hilda,"  she  used  to  say. 
"  When  I  find  the  perfect  man,  I  will  marry  him, 
but  not  before." 

Mildred,  who  was  twenty-six  years  of  age,  had 
therefore  the  youngest  and  smoothest  of  faces; 
care  had  never  touched  her  life,  and  wrinkles 
were  unlikely  to  visit  her. 

For  some  reason,  however,  she  looked  care 
worn  now,  and  Judy,  with  a  child's  quick  percep 
tion,  noticed  it. 

She  was  fond  of  Mildred,  and  she  put  up  her 
lips  for  a  kiss. 

"What's  the  matter,  Milly? "  she  asked; 
"  have  you  a  cold?  " 

"  No,  my  love;  on  principle  I  never  allow  my 
self  to  have  anything  so  silly;  but  I  am  shocked, 
Judy — shocked  at  what  I  have  read  in  the  morn 
ing  papers." 

"  Oh,  about  our  money,"  replied  Judy  in  an 
unconcerned  voice.  "  Have  you  found  that 
wasp,  Babs?  Are  you  looking  on  all  the  ivy 
leaves?  " 

"  I  picked  an  ivy  leaf,  and  put  it  down  just 
here,"  replied  Babs,  "  and  I  put  the  wasp  in  it 


60  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER, 

most  carefully;  the  wind  must  have  caught  it 
and  blown  it  away." 

"  Oh,  dear;  oh,  dear!  the  poor  creature,  what 
will  become  of  it?  "  answered  Judy.  She  was 
down  on  her  hands  and  knees  again,  poking 
and  examining,  but  poking  and  examining  in 
vain. 

"  It's  very  rude  of  you,  Judy,  not  to  pay  me 
the  least  attention,"  said  Mildred.  "  I  have  come 
over  on  purpose  to  see  you,  and  there  you  are 
squatting  on  the  ground,  pushing  all  that  rub 
bish  about.  You  have  no  manners,  and  I'll  tell 
Hilda  so;  and,  Babs,  what  are  you  about  not  to 
give  me  a  hug?  " 

Babs  raised  a  somewhat  grimy  little  face. 

"  We  can't  find  the  poor  wasp,"  she  said. 
"  He  was  rolled  up  in  the  spider's  web,  and  I  put 
him  on  an  ivy  leaf,  and  now  he's  gone." 

"  You  had  better  go  on  looking  for  him, 
Babs,"  said  Judy,  "  and  I'll  talk  to  Milly."  She 
rose  as  she  spoke  and  placed  her  dirty  little  hand 
on  Miss  Anstruther's  arm.  "  So  you  heard 
about  our  money,  Milly? "  she  said.  "  Aunt 
Marjorie  is  in  an  awful  state,  she  has  cried  and 
cried  and  cried;  but  the  rest  of  us  don't  care." 

"  You  don't  care?  Oh,  you  queer,  queer 
people!  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,  little  Judy, 
that  Hilda  doesn't  care?  " 


IN  A    GARDEN.  6 1 

"  Hilda  cares  the  least  of  all,"  replied  Judy; 
"  she  has  got  Jasper." 

Judy's  face  clouded  over  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  wonder  what  he'll  say  to  this  business,"  re 
marked  Miss  Anstruther,  half  to  herself;  "  he's 
not  at  all  well  off — it  ought  to  make  a  tremen 
dous  difference  to  him." 

"  He  certainly  isn't  to  be  pitied,"  said  Judy; 
"  he's  going  to  get  Hilda." 

"  And  what  about  Hilda's  money?  "  laughed 
Miss  Anstruther.  Her  face  wore  an  expres 
sion  which  was  almost  disagreeable,  her  big 
blue  eyes  looked  dark  as  they  gazed  at  the 
child. 

Judy's  own  little  face  turned  pale-.  She  didn't 
understand  Miss  Anstruther,  but  something  im 
pelled  her  to  say  with  great  fierceness: 

"  I  hate  Jasper!  " 

Miss  Anstruther  stooped  down  and  kissed 
her. 

"  You  are  a  queer,  passionate  little  thing, 
Judy,"  she  said,  "  but  it's  a  very  good  thing  for 
Hilda  to  be  engaged  to  a  nice  sensible  fellow  like 
Jasper  Ouentyns,  and  of  course  it  is  more  im 
portant  now  than  ever  for  her.  He'll  be  disap 
pointed,  of  course,  but  I  dare  say  they  can  get 
along  somehow.  Ah,  there's  Aunt  Marjorie 
coming  out  of  the  house.  I  must  run  and  speak 


62  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

to  her,  poor  dear;  how  troubled  she  looks!  and 
no  wonder." 

Mildred  ran  off,  and  Judy  stood  where  she 
had  left  her,  in  the  center  of  the  lawn,  quivering 
all  over. 

What  did  Milly  mean  by  saying  that  Jasper 
would  be  disappointed — Jasper,  who  was  going 
to  get  Hilda — Hilda  herself?  What  could  any 
one  want  more  than  the  sun?  what  could  any 
man  desire  more  than  the  queen  of  all  queens, 
the  rose  of  all  roses? 

Thoughts  like  these  flitted  through  little 
Judy's  mind  in  confused  fashion.  Hilda  was  to 
be  married  to  Jasper,  and  the  Rectory  of  Little 
Staunton  would  know  her  no  more.  That  in 
deed  was  a  sorrow  to  make  everyone  turn  sick 
and  pale,  but  the  loss  of  the  money  was  not 
worth  a  moment's  consideration. 

Judy  wandered  about,  too  restless  and  un 
happy  to  settle  to  her  play.  Babs  shouted  in  the 
distance  that  the  wasp  was  not  to  be  seen. 
Even  the  fate  of  the  poor  wasp  scarcely  inter 
ested  Judy  at  present.  She  was  watching  for 
Mildred  to  reappear  that  she  might  join  her  in 
the  avenue  and  ask  why  she  dared  to  say  those 
words  about  Jasper. 

"  Well,  Judy,"  said  Miss  Anstruther  by  and 
by,  "  here  I  am,  back  at  last.  I  saw  Aunt  Mar- 


IN  A    GARDEN.  63 

jorie,  but  I  didn't  see  the  Rector,  and  I  didn't 
see  Hilda.  Aunt  Marjorie  tells  me  that  Jasper 
Quentyns  is  coming  down  to-night,  so  I  suppose 
he's  going  to  take  everything  all  right." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Milly?  "  asked  Judy. 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  in  that  fierce  way, 
you  small  atom?  "  answered  Mildred,  stopping 
in  her  walk  and  looking  at  the  child  with  an 
amused  smile  on  her  face. 

"  Because  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Judy. 

"  It  is  scarcely  likely  you  should,  my  darling. 
Let  me  see,  how  old  are  you — nine?  Well, 
you'll  know  something  of  what  I  mean  when 
you're  nineteen.  Now  I  must  go." 

"  No,  stop  a  bit,  Milly.  I  don't  understand 
you,  but  I  hate  hints.  Miss  Mills  hints  things 
sometimes,  and  oh,  how  I  detest  her  when  she 
does!  and  you're  hinting  now,  and  it  is  some 
thing  against  Hilda." 

"  Against  Hilda?  Oh,  good  gracious,  child, 
what  an  awful  cram!  " 

"  It  isn't  a  cram,  it  is  true.  I  can't  explain  it, 
but  I  know  you're  hinting  something  against 
darling  Hilda.  Why  should  you  say  that  Jasper 
will  be  disappointed?  Isn't  she  going  away  with 
him  some  day?  and  aren't  they  going  to  live  in 
— in  a  horrid — a  horrid  Hat  together,  and  she 
won't  even  have  a  garden,  nor  fowls,  nor  flowers? 


64  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

And  you  say  Jasper  will  be  disappointed. 
Everything  is  going  when  Hilda  goes,  and  you 
speak  as  if  Jasper  wasn't  the  very  luckiest  per 
son  in  all  the  wide  world.  /  know  what  it  means ; 
yes,  I  know.  Oh,  Milly,  I'm  so  unhappy.  Oh, 
Milly,  what  shall  I  do  when  Hilda  goes  away?  " 

Mildred  was  impulsive  and  kind-hearted,  not 
withstanding  the  very  decided  fit  of  jealousy 
which  was  now  over  her.  She  put  her  arm 
round  Judy  and  tried  to  comfort  her. 

'  You  poor  little  thing,"  she  said,  "  you  poor 
little  jealous,  miserable  mite.  How  could  you 
think  you  were  going  to  keep  your  Hilda 
always?  There,  Judy,  there,  darling,  I  really 
am  sorry  for  you — I  really  am,  but  you  know 
Hilda  is  pretty  and  sweet,  and  someone  wants 
her  to  make  another  home  beautiful.  There, 
I'll  say  something  to  comfort  you — I'll  eat  all 
the  words  I  have  already  uttered,  and  tell  you 
emphatically  from  my  heart  of  hearts  that  Hilda 
is  too  good  for  Jasper  Quentyns." 

"Judy,  Judy,  Judy!  I  have  found  the  wasp," 
shouted  Babs. 

Judy  dried  her  eyes  hastily,  kissed  Mildred, 
and  ran  across  the  lawn  to  her  little  sister. 

"  What  a  queer  child  Judy  Merton  is,"  said 
Mildred  to  herself.  "  What  tempestuous  little 
creatures  some  children  are.  How  passionately 


IN  A    GARDEN.  65 

she  spoke  about  Hilda,  and  now  her  whole  heart 
and  soul  are  devoted  to  the  rescuing  of  a  miser 
able  insect.  Yes,  of  course  Jasper  is  not  good 
enough  for  Hilda.  He  has  plenty  of  faults,  he 
is  not  the  prince  I  have  been  looking  for,  and  yet 
— and  yet " 

Her  heart  beat  quickly,  the  color  rushed  into 
her  face,  she  felt  her  firm  lips  tremble,  and  knew 
that  her  eyes  were  shining  with  unusual  bril 
liance.  Someone  was  coming  along  the  path 
to  meet  her.  A  man  with  the  sunlight  shining 
all  over  him — an  athletic  figure,  who  walked 
with  the  swift  bounding  step  of  youth.  He  was 
Jasper  Quentyns. 

"  Hullo!  "  he  called,  catching  sight  of  her.  "  I 
was  fortunate  in  getting  an  earlier  train  than  I 
had  hoped  for,  and  here  I  am  two  hours  before 
I  was  expected.  How.  is  Hilda?  Have  you 
been  at  the  house?  Are  they  all  fearfully  cut 
up?" 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Quentyns?  "  replied 
Mildred.  "  Yes,  I  have  been  at  the  house,  and 
I  have  seen  Judy  and  Aunt  Marjorie.  Judy 
seems  to  me  to  be  in  a  very  excitable  and  feverish 
state  of  mind." 

"She's  rather  spoilt,  isn't  she?"  said  Quen 
tyns. 

"  Oh,  well,  she's  Hilda's  special  darling,  the 


66  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

first  in  her  heart  by  many  degrees — after — after 
somebody  else." 

"  But  how  could  a  child  like  Judy  know  any 
thing  about  money  loss?  " 

"  It  isn't  the  money  that's  troubling  her  at  the 
present  moment,  it's  a  poor  wasp.  Now  pray 
don't  look  so  bewildered,  and  do  try  and  forget 
about  Judy.  Aunt  Marjorie  is  taking  her 
trouble  in  a  thoroughly  practical  and  Aunt  Mar 
jorie  style.  I  have  not  seen  Hilda,  nor  have  I 
seen  the  Rector." 

"  It  will  be  an  awful  blow  to  them  all,"  said 
Quentyns. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Miss  Anstruther,  looking  him 
straight  in  the  eyes,  "  an  awful  blow.  And  you 
feel  it  far  more  than  Hilda,"  she  soliloquized,  as 
she  walked  back  to  her  own  home. 


I    HAVE    COME   ON    PURPOSE    TO    SEE    YOU,    JUDY."       P.   60. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE     EVE     OF    THE    WEDDING. 

Where  shall  I  find  a  white  rose  blowing  ? 

Out  in  the  garden  where  all  sweets  be. 
But  out  in  my  garden  the  snow  was  snowing 

And  never  a  white  rose  opened  for  me, 
Naught  but  snow  and  a  wind  were  blowing 

And  snowing. 

— CHRISTINA  G.  ROSSETTI. 

Notwithstanding  Mildred  Anstruther's  inward 
prognostications,  there  came  no  hitch  to  Hilda 
Merton's  engagement.  Quentyns  behaved  as 
the  best  and  most  honorable  of  men.  He  was 
all  that  wras  tender  and  loving  to  Hilda,  and  he 
immediately  took  that  position  toward  Mr.  Mer- 
ton  which  a  son  might  have  held.  Quentyns 
was  a  good  business  man,  and  in  the  catastrophe 
which  overwhelmed  the  Rectory,  he  proved 
himself  invaluable. 

On  one  point,  however,  he  was  very  firm. 
His  marriage  with  Hilda  must  not  be  delayed. 
No  persuasive  speeches  on  her  part,  no  longing 
looks  out  of  Judy's  hungry  eyes,  no  murmurs  on 
the  part  of  Aunt  Marjorie,  would  induce  him  to 
put  off  the  time  of  the  wedding  by  a  single  day. 


68  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

He  used  great  tact  in  this  matter,  for  Quen- 
tyns  was  the  soul  of  tact,  and  it  quite  seemed  to 
the  family,  and  even  to  Hilda  herself,  that  she 
had  suggested  the  eighth  of  January  as  the  most 
suitable  day  in  the  whole  year  for  a  wedding — 
it  seemed  to  the  whole  family,  and  even  to  Hilda 
herself,  that  she  was  the  one  who  desired  to  go, 
whereas  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  in  that  innermost 
heart  which  she  scarcely  ventured  to  probe  at  all 
just  now,  she  would  have  gladly  shared  Aunt 
Marjorie's  discomforts  and  sat  by  her  father's 
side  while  he  composed  those  sermons  which 
were  to  teach  his  flock,  with  a  sure  note  of  truth 
running  through  them,  that  the  blessed  man  is 
the  man  whom  the  Lord  God  chasteneth. 

The  wedding-day  was  fixed,  and  notwith 
standing  poverty  and  its  attendant  shadows, 
preparations  for  the  great  event  went  on  merrily 
enough. 

A  check  for  Hilda's  trousseau  was  sent  to  her 
by  a  rich  aunt  in  India,  and  the  pleasant  excite 
ment  which  even  the  quietest  wedding  always 
causes  began  to  pervade  the  Rectory. 

When  the  day  was  finally  arranged,  Aunt 
Marjorie  ceased  to  murmur  and  cry.  She  talked 
a  great  deal  now  of  Hilda's  coming  responsibili 
ties,  and  spent  all  her  leisure  moments  copying 
out  receipts  which  she  thought  might  be  useful 


THE   EVE   OF   THE    WEDDING.  69 

to  her  niece  in  her  new  position  as  wife  and 
housekeeper. 

''  You  have  never  yet  told  me  where  you  are 
going  to  live,  Hilda,"  she  said,  on  the  New 
Year's  Day  which  preceded  the  wedding. 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure  myself,"  replied  Hilda. 
"  Jasper  has  seen  a  great  many  suburban  houses 
which  he  does  not  quite  like,  and  a  great  many 
flats  which  he  considers  absolutely  perfect.  He 
says  there  is  no  special  hurry  about  choosing  a 
house,  for  after  we  have  returned  from  our  wed 
ding  tour  we  are  to  stay  with  some  of  his  rela 
tions  in  town,  and  during  that  time  we  can  make 
up  our  minds  as  to  what  kind  of  home  we  will 
have." 

"  Very  prudent  of  Jasper,"  said  Aunt  Mar- 
jorie.  "  He  really  is  an  excellent  fellow — so 
wonderfully  thoughtful  for  such  a  young  man. 
Of  course  he  has  far  too  much  sense  to  think  of 
selecting  a  house  for  you  himself.  As  to  a  flat, 
you  will  of  course  not  dream  of  going  into  one — 
a  house  is  better  in  all  respects,  more  airy  and 
more  interesting." 

"  I  should  like  a  house  best,"  said  Hilda,  "  but 
Jasper,  of  course,  is  the  one  really  to  decide." 

"  Now,  there  you  are  wrong,  my  love.  You 
are  undoubtedly  the  right  person  to  make  the 
final  choice.  I  am  old-fashioned  in  my  ideas, 


7°  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Hilda,  and  I  think  the  wife  ought  to  be  in  sub 
jection  to  her  husband,  for  we  have  Scripture 
for  it,  but  I  don't  believe  St.  Paul  meant  that 
rule  to  extend  to  domestic  matters.  In  domes 
tic  matters  the  wife  ought  to  have  the  casting 
vote.  Be  sure,  my  dear  Hilda,  you  don't  yield 
to  Jasper  in  domestic  affairs — you  will  rue  it  if 
you  do — and  be  quite  sure  that  in  selecting  a 
house  you  have  a  wide  entrance-hall,  a  spacious 
staircase,  and  a  large  drawing  room." 

"  But,  Auntie,  such  a  house  will  be  beyond 
our  means." 

"  Tut,  tut,  my  love — the  rent  may  be  a  few 
pounds  more,  but  what  of  that?  A  large  en 
trance-hall  is  really  essential;  and  as  it  is  easier 
to  keep  large  rooms  and  wide  staircases  clean 
than  small  ones,  your  servants  will  have  less  to 
do  and  you  will  save  the  extra  rent  in  that  way. 
Now  here  is  your  great-grandmother's  receipt 
for  plum-pudding — two  dozen  eggs,  three 
pounds  raisins,  one  pound  citron.  Hilda,  I  par 
ticularly  want  to  give  you  a  hint  about  the  spice 
for  this  pudding;  ah,  and  I  must  speak  also  about 
this  white  soup — it  is  simply  made,  and  at  the 
same  time  delicious — the  stock  from  two  fowls 
— one  pint  single  cream — your  father  is  particu 
larly  fond  of  it.  Yes,  Susan,  what  is  the 
matter?  " 


THE   EVE   OF    THE    IV ED  DING.  7* 

"  A  parcel  for  Miss  Hilda,  ma'am,"  said  the 
neat  parlor-maid.  "  It  has  come  by  '  Carter 
Patterson';  and  will  you  put  your  name  here, 
please,  Miss  Hilda." 

Hilda  signed  her  name  obediently,  and  a 
square  wooden  box  was  brought  in.  It  was 
opened  by  Aunt  Marjorie  herself  with  great  so 
lemnity.  Judy  and  Babs  came  and  looked  on, 
and  there  were  great  expressions  of  rapture 
when  an  exquisite  afternoon  tea-service  of 
Crown  Derby  was  exhibited  to  view. 

Wedding  presents  were  pouring  in  from  all 
quarters.  Hilda  put  this  one  away  with  the 
others,  and  calmly  continued  her  occupation  of 
adding  up  some  parochial  accounts  for  her 
father.  She  was  a  very  careful  accountant,  and 
had  the  makings  in  her  of  a  good  business 
woman  when  she  had  gained  a  little  experience. 

Aunt  Marjorie  sat  and  mumbled  little  dis 
jointed  remarks  with  regard  to  her  niece's  future 
state  and  subjection.  She  gave  her  many  hints 
as  to  when  she  was  to  yield  to  her  husband  and 
when  she  was  to  firmly  uphold  her  own  will. 

Had  Hilda  followed  out  Aunt  Marjorie's  pre 
cepts,  or  even  been  greatly  influenced  by  them, 
she  and  Jasper  would  have  had  a  very  unhappy 
future,  but  she  had  a  gentle  and  respectful  way 
of  listening  to  the  old  lady  without  taking  in  a 


72  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

great  deal  that  she  said.  Her  thoughts  were 
divided  now  between  Jasper  and  Judy.  Her 
heart  felt  torn  at  the  thought  of  leaving  her  little 
sister,  and  she  had  an  instinctive  feeling,  which 
she  had  never  yet  put  into  words,  that  Judy  and 
Jasper  were  antagonistic  to  each  other,  and, 
what  is  more,  would  always  remain  so. 

Judy  had  seen  the  Crown  Derby  service  un 
packed,  and  then,  in  the  sober  fashion  which 
more  or  less  characterized  all  her  actions  of  late, 
she  left  the  room. 

She  went  up  to  the  bedroom  which  she  and 
Babs  shared  together,  and  sitting  down  by  the 
window,  rested  her  chubby  cheek  against  her 
hand. 

Babs  was  kneeling  down  in  a  distant  corner, 
pulling  a  doll's  bedstead  to  pieces  for  the  express 
purpose  of  putting  it  together  again. 

"  My  doll  Lily  has  been  very  naughty  to-day," 
she  said,  "  and  I  am  going  to  put  her  to  bed. 
She  wouldn't  half  say  her  lessons  this  morning, 
and  she  deserves  to  be  well  punished.  What  are 
you  thinking  of,  Judy,  and  why  do  you  pucker 
up  your  forehead?  It  makes  you  look  so  cross." 

"  Never  mind  about  my  forehead.  I  have  a 
lot  of  things  to  think  of  just  now.  I  can't  be 
always  laughing  and  talking  like  you." 

Babs  paused  in  the  act  of  putting  a  sheet  on 


THE  EVE   OF    THE    WEDDING.  73 

her  doll's  bed  to  gaze  at  Judy  with  great  intent- 
ness. 

"  You  might  tell  me  what's  the  matter  with 
you,"  she  said,  after  a  moment  of  silence;  "  you 
are  not  a  bit  interesting  lately;  you're  always 
thinking  and  always  frowning,  unless  at  night 
when  you  are  sobbing." 

"Oh,  don't!"  said  Judy.  "  Don't  you  see 
what  it  is,  Babs — can't  you  guess? — it  is  only  a 
week  off  now." 

"  What's  only  a  week  off?  " 

"  Hilda's  wedding.  Oh,  dear;  oh,  dear!  I 
wish  I  were  dead;  I  do  wish  I  were  dead." 

Babs  did  not  think  this  remark  of  poor  Judy's 
worth  replying  to.  She  gravely  finished  mak 
ing  her  doll's  bed,  tucked  Lily  up  comfortably, 
and  coming  over  to  the  window,  knelt  down, 
placed  her  elbows  on  the  ledge,  and  looked  out 
at  the  snowy  landscape. 

"  Hasn't  Hilda  got  lots  and  lots  of  presents?  " 
she  said,  after  a  pause. 

"  Yes.     I  don't  want  to  see  them,  though." 

"  Everyone  is  giving  her  a  present,"  continued 
Babs,  in  her  calm  voice,  "  even  Miss  Mills  and 
the  servants.  Susan  told  me  that  the  school 
children  were  collecting  money  to  buy  her  some 
thing,  and — may  I  tell  you  a  'mendous  big 
secret,  Judy?  " 


74  A     yOL\\'G  MUTINEER. 

Judy  ceased  to  frown,  and  looked  at  Babs  with 
a  faint  dawning  of  interest  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  has  got  a  present  for  her  too,"  said  Babs, 
beginning  to  dance  about.  "  I  am  not  going  to 
give  it  till  the  day  of  the  wedding.  I  buyed  it 
my  own  self,  and  it's  quite  beautiful.  What  are 
you  going  to  give  her,  Judy?  " 

"  Nothing.     I  haven't  any  money." 

"  I  have  half  a  sovereign  in  the  Savings  Bank, 
but  I  can't  take  it  out  until  after  I  am  seven.  I 
wish  I  could,  for  I  could  lend  it  to  you  to  give 
Hilda  a  wedding  present." 

"  I  wish  you  could,"  said  Judy.  "  I'd  like 
awfully  to  give  her  something.  You  might  tell 
me  what  you  have  got,  Babs." 

"  It's  some  darning-cotton,"  said  Babs  in  a 
w^hisper.  "  I  buyed  it  last  week  with  twopence- 
halfpenny;  you  remember  the  day  I  went  with 
Mrs.  Sutton  to  town.  She  said  it  was  a  very 
useful  thing,  for  Hilda  will  want  to  mend  Jas 
per's  socks,  and  if  she  hasn't  darning-cotton 
handy  maybe  he'll  scold  her." 

"  He  wouldn't  dare  to,"  said  Judy,  with  a 
frown;  "  she  shan't  mend  his  horrid  socks.  Why 
did  you  get  such  a  nasty  wedding  present, 
Babs?  " 

A  flush  of  delicate  color  spread  all  over  Babs's 
little  fair  face.  She  winked  her  blue  eyes  hard 


THE  EVE   OF   THE    WEDDING.  75 

to  keep  back  the  tears  which  Judy's  scathing  re 
marks  were  bringing  to  the  surface,  and  said, 
after  a  pause: 

"  It's  not  a  horrid  present,  it's  lovely;  and  any 
how  " — her  voice  becoming  energetic  as  this 
happy  mode  of  revenge  occurred  to  her — "  it  is 
better  than  yours,  for  you  has  got  nothing  at 
all." 

"  Oh,  I'll  have  something  when  the  day 
comes,"  replied  Judy,  in  a  would-be  careless 
tone. 

"  But  you  hasn't  any  money." 

"  Money  isn't  everything.  I'll  manage,  you'll 
see." 

From  this  moment  Judy's  whole  heart  and 
soul  were  absorbed  in  one  fierce  desire  to  give 
Hilda  a  present  which  should  be  better  and 
sweeter  and  more  full  of  love  than  anybody 
else's. 

After  two  or  three  days  of  anxious  thought 
and  nights  of  troubled  dreams,  she  made  up  her 
mind  what  her  present  should  be.  It  should 
consist  of  holly  berries  and  ivy,  and  these  holly 
berries  and  that  ivy  should  be  picked  by  Judy's 
own  fingers,  and  should  be  made  into  a  bouquet 
by  Judy  herself;  and  the  very  center  of  this  bou 
quet  should  contain  a  love-note — a  little  twisted 
note,  into  which  Judy  would  pour  some  of  her 


7 6  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

soul.  It  should  be  given  to  Hilda  at  the  very 
last  moment  when  she  was  starting  for  church; 
and  though  she  was  all  in  white  from  top  to  toe 
— all  in  pure  white,  with  a  bouquet  of  white 
flowers  in  her  hand — yet  she  should  carry  Judy's 
bouquet,  with  its  thorns  and  its  crimson  berries, 
as  a  token  of  her  little  sister's  faithful  love. 

"  She  shall  carry  it  to  church  with  her,"  said 
Judy,  with  inward  passion.  "  I'll  make  her 
promise  beforehand,  and  I  know  she  won't  break 
her  word  to  me.  It  will  be  a  little  bit  of  me 
she'll  have  with  her,  even  when  she  is  giving  her 
self  to  that  horrid  Jasper." 

The  little  girl  quite  cheered  up  when  this  idea 
came  to  her.  She  became  helpful  and  pleasant 
once  more,  and  allowed  Babs  to  chatter  to  her 
about  the  insect  world,  which  had  now  prac 
tically  gone  to  sleep;  and  about  the  delights  of 
the  time  when  their  chrysalides,  which  they  had 
put  away  so  carefully  in  the  butterfly-case, 
should  burst  out  into  living  and  beautiful  things. 

The  day  before  the  wedding  came,  and  the 
.whole  house  was  in  pleasant  bustle  and  confu 
sion.  Nearly  all  the  presents  had  arrived  by  this 
time.  The  school  children  had  come  up  to  the 
Rectory  in  a  body  to  present  Hilda  with  a  very 
large  and  gaudily  decorated  photographic 
album;  the  Rectory  servants  had  given  the 


THE   EVE   OF   THE    WEDDING.  7? 

bride-elect  a  cuckoo-clock;  Miss  Mills  had 
blushed  as  she  presented  her  with  a  birth-day 
book  bound  in  white  vellum;  "  Carter  Patter 
son's  "  people  were  tired  of  coming  up  the 
avenue  with  box  after  box;  and  Aunt  Marjorie 
was  tired  of  counting  on  her  fingers  the  names  of 
the  different  friends  who  were  sure  to  remember 
such  an  important  event  as  Hilda  Merton's  wed 
ding. 

But  for  Aunt  Marjorie,  Hilda  would  have 
given  herself  to  Jasper  in  a  very  quiet  and  unob 
trusive  fashion.  But  this  idea  of  a  wredding  was 
such  intense  grief  to  the  old  lady  that  Hilda  and 
Jasper,  rather  against  their  wills,  abandoned  it, 
and  Hilda  was  content  to  screen  her  lovely  face 
behind  a  white  veil,  and  to  go  to  church  decked 
as  a  bride  should. 

"  It  is  positively  economical  to  get  a  proper 
wedding  dress,"  said  Aunt  Marjorie;  ''you'll 
want  it  for  the  parties  you'll  go  to  during  your 
first  season  in  town,  Hilda.  Of  course  Lady 
Malvern,  Jasper's  aunt,  will  present  you,  and  the 
dress  with  a  little  alteration  will  do  very  well  to 
go  to  the  Drawing  Room  in.  I  shall  desire  the 
dressmaker  to  make  the  train  quite  half  a  yard 
extra,  on  purpose." 

Aunt  Marjorie  had  her  way,  and  was  suffi 
ciently  happy  in  her  present  life  to  forget  the  dull 


78  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

days  which  must  follow,  and  to  cease  to  think  of 
the  deserted  house  when  Hilda,  and  wealth,  and 
luxury,  went  away. 

It  was  the  evening  before  the  wedding-day, 
when  Babs  came  solemnly  into  the  room  where 
her  sister  was  sitting,  and  presented  her  with 
her  wedding  gift. 

"  It's  darning-cotton,"  said  Babs,  in  her 
gentle,  full,  satisfied  fashion.  "  Sutton  said  it 
would  be  useful,  and  that  Jasper  wouldn't  scold 
you  if  you  had  it  handy." 

"  What  treason  are  you  talking,  Babs?  "  asked 
Quentyns,  who  was  standing  by  Hilda's  side. 

He  stooped  down,  and  mounted  her  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  Sutton  says  that  husbands  always  scold 
their  wives,"  said  Babs. 

"  Nonsense,  child!  Sutton  doesn't  speak  the 
truth.  I  would  far  rather  scold  myself  than 
Hilda." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate  here's  the  cotton.  I  spent 
all  my  money  on  it  except  the  ten  shillings  in  the 
Savings  Bank;  and,  Hilda,  you  will  use  it  when 
Jasper's  socks  get  into  holes." 

"  Of  course  I  will,  you  dear  little  darling," 
said  Hilda.  "  I  think  it  is  a  perfectly  sweet 
present.  Give  it  to  me;  I  was  just  packing  my 
work-basket,  and  in  it  shall  go  this  minute.  I'll 


THE   EVE    OF   THE    WEDDING.  79 

think  of  you  every  time  I  use  a  thread  of  this 
cotton,  Babs." 

"  Babs,  Aliss  Mills  says  it  is  quite  time  for  you 
to  go  to  bed,"  said  Judy,  who  was  standing  at 
the  back  of  Hilda's  chair,  softly  touching  her 
bright  head  from  time  to  time  with  the  tips  of 
her  little  fingers. 

Ouentyns  laughed  when  Judy  spoke  in  her 
solemn  voice. 

"  And  what  about  Judy's  time  for  going  to 
bed?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  am  much  older  than  Babs,  and  Hilda 
said " 

"  Yes,  Jasper;  I  said  Judy  should  have  a  little 
talk  with  me  all  by  myself  to-night,"  said  Hilda, 
putting  back  her  hand  and  drawing  her  little 
sister  forward.  "  Here's  a  tiny  bit  of  my  chair 
for  you  to  sit  upon,  Judy  dearest." 

"  Then  I'll  take  Babs  upstairs,"  said  Jasper. 
"  Put  your  arms  tightly  round  my  neck,  you 
quaint  monkey,  and  I'll  race  up  to  your  room 
with  you." 

"  Hilda,"  said  Judy,  the  moment  the  door  had 
closed  behind  the  two,  "  I  haven't  given  you  my 
present  yet." 

"  My  darling,"  said  Hilda,  "  when  we  love  as 
you  and  I  love  each  other,  presents  mean  noth 
ing — nothing  at  all.  I  know  you  have  no 


8o  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

money,  dearest  little  Judy,  and  I  think  it  was  so 
sweet  of  you  not  to  ask  for  any.  Your  present 
to  me  is  your  thoughtfulness;  no  gift  could  be 
sweeter." 

"  Hilda,  may  I  rest  my  head  against  your 
shoulder?  " 

"  Of  course,  darling.     Now  aren't  we  cozy?  " 

"  We  are;  I  feel  warm  now,  and — and  happy. 
I  won't  be  able  to  sit  like  this  for  a  long  time 
again." 

"  Yes  you  will,  for  you're  coming  to  stay  with 
us;  as  soon  as  ever  we  get  into  our  house,  or  our 
flat,  or  wherever  we  shall  live,  you  are  to  come. 
One  of  the  very  first  rooms  I  shall  furnish  will 
be  your  little  bedroom,  my  Judy." 

"  And  then  I  can  sit  close  to  you  every  night. 
But  oh,  Hilda,  he'll  be  there,  he  won't  like  it." 

"  Yes,  he  will;  he'll  like  anything  that  I  like. 
There  is  an  old  proverb  that  I  must  repeat  for 
your  benefit — '  Love  me,  love  my  dog.'  That 
means  that  those  whom  I  love  you  ought  to 
love." 

"  Ought  I?  Very  well,  I'll  try  to  love— Jas 
per.  Anything  that  you  say  I'll  try  to  do. 
Hilda,  why  does  loving  a  person  give  pain?  I 
have  an  ache  in  my  heart — a  big  ache.  There 
now,  what  a  horrid  girl  I  am!  I  am  making 
your  eyes  fill  with  tears.  You  shan't  be  un- 


THE   EVE   OF    7'HE    WEDDING.  81 

happy  just  when  you're  going  to  be  made  into 

a  beautiful  white  bride.  Sutton  says  it  is  un 
lucky  for  a  bride  to  cry.  You  shan't  cry,  Hilda, 
you  shan't — you  mustn't." 

"  But  I  can't  help  crying,  Judy,  when  I  think 
that  you  are  unhappy,  and  when  you  speak  of 
your  love  to  me  as  a  pain." 

"  I'll  never  speak  of  it  again.  I'll  be  happy — 
I  won't  fret — no,  I  won't  fret  at  all,  and  I  won't 
cry  even  once,"  said  the  child,  making  a  valiant 
effort  to  bring  a  smile  to  her  face.  "  Hilda, 
will  you  promise  me  something  very,  very 
solemnly?  " 

"  If  it  is  in  my  power  I  certainly  will,  my  pet." 

"  You  have  not  got  my  wedding  present  yet, 
Hilda;  but  it  is  coming.  Promise  me " 

"  What,  darling?  " 

"  Promise  to  take  it  to  church  with  you  to 
morrow — I'll  give  it  to  you  just  before  church — 
it  will  be  full  of  me — my  very  heart  will  be  in  it 
— take  it  to  church  with  you,  Hilda,  and  hold  it 
in  your  hand  when  you're  giving  yourself  to  Jas 
per — promise — promise." 

"How  excited  you  are,  my  dearest!  If  it 
makes  you  really  happy  to  know  that  I  shall  hold 
something  of  yours  in  my  hand  when  I  am  being 
married,  I  will  certainly  do  so." 

"  Oh,  it  does  make  me  happy,  it  does!  " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A    WEDDING    PRESENT. 

But  my  lover  will  not  prize 
All  the  glory  that  he  rides  in, 

When  he  gazes  in  my  face  : 
He  will  say  :   "  O  Love,  thine  eyes 
Build  the  shrine  my  soul  abides  in, 

And  I  kneel  here  for  thy  grace  !  " 

— E.  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

There  was  a  holly  tree  not  far  from  the  church 
with  berries  so  red  and  leaves  so  green  and  shin 
ing  that  it  was  generally  denuded  of  its  beauties 
to  decorate  the  most  important  parts  of  the 
church. 

Judy  knew  this  holly  tree  well.  It  had  been 
much  crippled  in  shape  and  color  for  the  Christ 
mas  decorations,  but  one  perfect  branch  had 
been  left  where  the  berries  still  grew  in  full  rich 
clusters — this  special  branch  had  not  been  no 
ticed  by  the  gardener  when  he  was  cutting  the 
holly  for  Christmas,  and  Judy  determined  that 
from  it  she  would  pick  the  crimson  berries  which 
were  to  constitute  Hilda's  wedding  present. 

"  Barnes,"  she  said  to  the  old  gardener  the 
82 


A    WEDDIXG  PRESENT.  83 

day  before,  "  you  mustn't  allow  anyone  to  touch 
my  bough  of  holly." 

"  Well,  Miss  Judy,  you're  a  queer  child;  what 
bough  of  holly  do  you  mean?  " 

"  The  bough  on  the  round  tree  near  the 
church.  I  want  it  most  particular  badly;  you 
won't  let  anyone  pick  it — will  you,  Barnes?  " 

"  No,  that  I  won't,"  said  Barnes,  good- 
naturedly;  and  Judy,  quite  satisfied  and  happy 
in  her  mind,  ran  away. 

On  the  wedding  morning,  just  when  the  day 
broke,  she  got  softly,  very  softly  out  of  bed. 
Babs  was  having  happy  dreams  at  the  moment, 
for  smiles  were  flitting  across  her  face  and  her 
lips  were  moving.  Judy,  heavy-eyed  and  pale, 
rose  from  her  broken  slumbers  and  proceeded  to 
dress  herself.  She  must  go  out  now  to  fetch 
her  holly  bough.  She  could  dress  herself  nicely; 
and  putting  on  a  warm  jacket  she  ran  downstairs 
and  let  herself  out  into  the  foggy,  frosty  air. 
She  was  warmly  clad  as  to  her  head  and  throat, 
but  she  had  not  considered  it  necessary  to  put 
on  her  out-door  boots.  The  boots  took  a  long 
time  to  lace,  and  as  she  did  not  expect  to  be  ab 
sent  from  the  house  more  than  ten  or  twelve 
minutes,  she  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  go 
to  this  trouble. 

She  ran  swiftly  now,  her  heart  beating  with  a 


84  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

certain  pleasurable  excitement.  It  was  so  nice 
to  be  able  to  make  a  beautiful,  quaint  wedding 
present  out  of  the  red  berries  and  the  glistening 
leaves  and  the  little  note  full  of  love  hiding 
away  in  their  depths.  How  delighted  Hilda 
would  be  by  and  by  to  open  that  note  and  to 
read  some  of  Judy's  innermost  thoughts. 

"  Even  though  she  has  Jasper,  she  loves  me," 
thought  the  child.  "  She  will  know  somctliing 
of  what  I  think  of  her,  the  darling,  when  she  has 
read  my  note." 

The  little  letter,  written  on  a  tiny  pink  sheet 
of  paper,  was  put  away  all  ready  in  Judy's 
drawer;  she  had  but  to  cut  the  bough  of  holly 
and  her  unique  wedding  present  would  be  almost 
ready.  She  reached  the  tree,  having  to  go  to  it 
through  long  grass  heavy  with  hoar  frost.  Her 
stockings  and  feet  were  already  very  wet.  but 
she  thought  nothing  of  this  fact  in  her  excite 
ment.  She  had  a  small  knife  in  her  pocket 
which  she  proceeded  to  take  out  in  order  to  cut 
the  bough  away — it  grew  low  down  and  she  had 
to  pull  the  grass  aside  to  look  for  it. 

Alack,  and  alas!  where  was  it,  who  had  taken 
it?  Had  wicked,  wicked  Barnes  been  faithless? 
There  was  a  torn  gash  on  the  trunk  of  the  tree, 
and  no  long  bough  red  with  berries  was  any 
where  to  be  seen. 


A    WEDDING  PRESENT.  85 

Poor  little  Judy  could  not  help  uttering  a  cry 
of  anguish.  Hot  anger  against  Barnes  swelled 
up  in  her  heart.  Miss  Mills  was  in  reality  the 
culprit.  Knowing  nothing  of  Judy's  desire, 
she  had  cut  the  bough  late  the  night  before  for 
some  window  decoration. 

"  I  won't  go  back  to  the  house  until  I  get 
some  holly,"  thought  the  child.  She  wiped 
away  her  fast-falling  tears  and  set  her  sharp  little 
wits  to  work.  This  was  the  most  scarce  time  in 
the  whole  winter  for  holly  berries,  the  greater 
number  of  them  having  been  used  for  church 
and  Christmas  decorations;  but  Judy,  whose 
keen  eyes  noticed  Nature  in  all  her  aspects,  sud 
denly  remembered  that  on  the  borders  of  a  lake 
nearly  a  mile  away  grew  another  holly  tree — a 
small  and  unremarkable  bush  which  might  yet 
contain  sufficient  bright  berries  for  her  purpose. 
Without  an  instant's  hesitation  she  determined 
to  walk  that  mile  and  reach  that  tree.  She  must 
go  quickly  if  she  would  be  back  before  anyone 
noticed  her.  She  was  particularly  anxious  that 
her  gift  should  not  be  seen  in  advance.  Run 
ning,  racing,  and  scrambling  she  effected  her 
purpose,  reached  the  tree,  secured  some  berries 
and  leaves,  and  returned  to  the  house  wet 
through  and  very  tired. 

Babs  was  rubbing  her  eyes  and  stretching  her 


86  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

limbs  in  her  snug  bed  in  the  nursery  when  her 
sister  came  back. 

"  Oh,  Judy,  what  have  you  been  doing?  "  she 
exclaimed,  sitting  up  and  staring  in  round-eyed 
astonishment. 

''  Hush,  Babs,"  said  Judy,  "  don't  speak  for  a 
moment — don't  say  a  single  word  until  I  have 
locked  the  door." 

"  But  you  oughtn't  to  lock  the  door.  Miss 
Mills  doesn't  wish  it." 

''  I  am  going  to  disobey  her." 

"  But  you'll  be  punished." 

"  I  don't  care." 

The  key  was  turned  in  the  lock,  and  Judy, 
going  over  to  Babs'  bed,  exhibited  her  spoils. 

''  See,"  she  said,  "  here's  my  wedding  pres 
ent." 

"  Did  you  go  to  fetch  those  holly  berries  this 
morning?  "  asked  Babs. 

"  Yes,  I  did,  and  I  had  to  go  a  long  way  for 
them  too;  that  horrid,  wicked  old  Barnes  had 
cut  away  my  bough,  and  I  had  to  go  all  the  way 
to  the  lake." 

"  Your  feet  do  look  so  sloppy  and  wet." 

"  So  they  are,  they  are  soaking;  I  forgot  to 
put  on  my  boots." 

"  Oh,  won't  you  catch  an  awful  cold!  won't 
Miss  Mills  be  angry!  " 


A    WEDDING  PRESENT.  87 

"Never  mind;  I'll  change  my  stockings  and 
shoes  after  I  have  arranged  my  present." 

"  It's  such  a  funny  wedding  present,"  said 
Babs.  "  Do  you  think  Hilda  will  like  it?  " 

"  She'll  do  more  than  like  it:  she'll  love  it. 
Don't  talk  to  me  any  more — I'm  too  busy  to 
answer  you." 

Babs  fidgeted  and  mumbled  to  herself.  Judy 
stood  with  her  back  to  her.  She  used  her  little 
fingers  deftly — her  taste  as  to  arrangement  and 
color  was  perfect.  The  sharp  thorns  pricked 
her  poor  little  fingers,  but  she  was  rather  glad 
than  otherwise  to  suffer  in  Hilda's  cause.  The 
wedding  present  was  complete,  no  sign  of  the 
note  could  be  seen  in  the  midst  of  the  green 
leaves  and  crimson  berries.  Judy  unlocked  the 
door  and  tumbled  back  into  bed.  Miss  Mills 
knew  nothing  of  her  escapade,  for  Babs  was  far 
too  stanch  to  betray  her. 

Just  as  Hilda  in  a  cloud  of  white  was  stepping 
into  the  carriage  to  go  to  church  that  morning, 
a  little  figure,  also  in  cloudy  white  with  wide- 
open  greeny-gray  eyes,  under  which  heavy  dark 
marks  were  already  visible,  rushed  up  to  her  and 
thrust  something  into  her  hand. 

'  Your — your  wedding  present,  Hilda," 
gasped  Judy.  The  strong  colors  of  the  red  and 
green  made  almost  a  blot  upon  Hilda's  fairness. 


88  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Her  father,  who  was  accompanying  her  to 
church,  interposed. 

"  Stand  back,  my  dear,  stand  back,  Judy,"  he 
said.  "  Hilda,  you  had  better  leave  those  ber 
ries  in  the  hall;  you're  surely  not  going  to  take 
them  to  church." 

"Your  promise,  Hilda,  your  faithful  promise," 
said  Judy  in  an  imploring  voice. 

Hilda  looked  at  the  child;  she  remembered  her 
words  of  the  night  before,  and  holding  the 
prickly  little  bunch  firmly,  said  in  a  gentle  voice: 

"  I  particularly  want  to  take  Judy's  present  to 
church  with  me,  father." 

"  As  you  like,  my  love,  of  course;  but  it  is  not 
at  all  in  keeping  with  that  lovely  bouquet  of 
hot-house  white  flowers  sent  to  you  by  Lady 
Dellacoeur." 

"  Then,  if  so,  Lady  Dellacceur's  flowers  shall 
stay  at  home,"  said  Hilda.  She  tossed  the 
splendid  bouquet  on  the  hall  table,  and  with 
Judy's  holly  berries  in  her  hand,  sprang  into  the 
carriage. 

"Isn't  she  a  darling?  "  said  Judy,  turning  with 
eyes  that  glowed  in  their  happiness  to  Miss 
Mills. 

"A  goose,  I  call  her,"  muttered  Miss  Mills; 
but  Judy  neither  heard  nor  heeded  her  words. 

The  little  church  was  nearly  full  of  spectators, 


A    WEDDING  PRESENT.  89 

and  one  and  all  did  not  fail  to  remark  Judy's 
wedding  present.  A  bride  in  white  from  top 
to  toe — a  lovely  bride  in  the  tenderest  bloom  of 
youth,  to  carry  a  bouquet  of  strong  dark  green 
and  crimson — had  anything  so  incongruous 
ever  been  seen  before?  But  Hilda  held  the 
flowers  tightly,  and  Judy's  hungry  heart  was 
satisfied. 

"  Good-by,  my  darling,"  said  Hilda  to  her 
little  sister  a  couple  of  hours  later;  "  good- 
by,  Judy;'  my  first  letter  shall  be  to  you, 
and  I  will  carefully  keep  your  dear  wedding 
present." 

"  Hilda,  Hilda,  there's  a  little  note  inside  of  it, 
in  the  heart  of  it;  you'll  read  it,  won't  you,  and 
you  won't  show  it  to  Jasper?  " 

"  If  you  wish  me  not,  I  won't,  dearest.  How 
hot  your  lips  are,  Judy,  and  how  flushed  your 
face." 

"  I  am  just  a  wee  bit  shivery,"  said  Judy,  "  but 
it's  nothing,  nothing  at  all.  I'll  promise  you 
not  to  fret,  Hilda.  Good-by,  dear,  dear,  darling 
Hilda." 

"  Good-by,  my  sweetest  little  treasure,  good- 
by." 

Hilda  got  into  the  carriage;  her  husband  took 
his  place  by  her  side.  Mildred  Anstruther 
tossed  a  great  shower  of  rice  after  them,  Miss 


9°  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Mills  and  Babs  hurled  slippers  down  the  avenue, 
Judy  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"  Hilda,"  said  Quentyns,  as  they  were  driv 
ing  to  the  station,  "  why  did  you  have  such  a 
very  funny  bouquet  in  church?  You  showed 
me  Lady  Dellacoeur's  flowers  last  night.  Why 
didn't  you  wear  them,  darling?  Those  harsh 
holly  berries  and  leaves  weren't  in  your  usual 
taste." 

"  But  you're  not  angry  with  me  for  carrying 
that  little  bouquet,  Jasper,  are  you?  " 

"  My  darling,  could  I  be  angry  with  you  for 
anything?  " 

"  The  little  bunch  of  holly  was  Judy's  wed 
ding  present,"  said  Hilda,  tears  dimming  her 
eyes;  "  I  promised  her  that  I  would  wear  them. 
Sweet  little  darling,  my  heart  aches  at  leaving 
her." 

Quentyns  took  Hilda's  hand  and  held  it  firmly 
within  his  own.  He  said  some  sympathetic 
words,  for  Hilda's  slightest  grief  was  grief  to 
him,  but  in  his  heart  he  could  not  help  mur 
muring: 

"  That  tiresome,  morbid  child.  Poor  darling 
Hilda,  I  must  show  her  very  gently  and  gradu 
ally  how  terribly  she  is  spoiling  Judy." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HONEYMOON. 

The  night  is  in  her  hair 

And  giveth  shade  for  shade, 
And  the  pale  moonlight  on  her  forehead  white 

Like  a  spirit's  hand  is  laid  ; 
Her  lips  part  with  a  smile 

Instead  of  speakings  done  : 
I  ween,  she  thinketh  of  a  voice, 

Albeit  uttering  none. 

— MRS.  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

A  month  later  Mrs.  Quentyns  was  sitting  in 
one  of  the  largest  hotels  at  Rome  waiting  for  her 
husband  to  come  in.  The  day  was  so  balmy  and 
genial  that  it  was  almost  impossible  for  Hilda  to 
believe  that  the  time  of  year  was  early  February. 
Dressed  in  dark-green  velvet,  with  a  creamy 
feather  boa  lying  by  her  side,  Hilda  sat  amidst 
all  her  unaccustomed  surroundings,  her  eyes 
looking  straight  down  the  lofty  room  and  her 
thoughts  far  away.  The  bride  was  thinking  of 
her  English  home — she  was  an  intensely  happy 
bride — she  loved  her  husband  devotedly — she 
looked  forward  to  a  good  and  blessed  life  by  his 


92  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

side,  but  still  (and  to  her  credit  be  it  spoken)  she 
could  not  forget  old  times.  In  the  Rectory 
gardens  now  the  crocuses  and  snowdrops  were 
putting  out  their  first  dark-green  leaves,  and 
showing  their  tender  petals  to  the  faint  winter 
sunshine.  Judy  and  Babs,  wrapped  in  furs  from 
top  to  toe,  were  taking  their  afternoon  walk — 
Babs  was  looking  in  vain  for  insect  life  in  the 
hedges,  and  Judy  was  opening  her  big  eyes  wide 
to  see  the  first  green  bud  that  ventured  to  put 
out  its  little  tip  to  be  greeted  by  the  winter  cold. 
Aunt  Mar  j  one  was  learning  to  make  use  of  her 
legs,  and  was  glowing  with  warmth  of  body  and 
vexation  of  spirit.  The  Rector  was  tranquilly 
writing  a  sermon  which,  notwithstanding  its 
polished  diction,  should  yet  show  the  workings 
of  a  new  spirit  which  would  move  his  congrega 
tion  on  Sunday. 

Hilda  seemed  to  see  the  whole  picture — but 
her  mind's  eye  rested  longest  on  the  figure  of 
the  tall,  rather  overgrown  child,  whose  eyes 
always  wore  too  hungry  an  expression  for  per 
fect  happiness. 

"  Little  darling,"  murmured  Hilda,  "  how  I 
wish  I  had  her  with  me  here — she'd  appreciate 
things  so  wonderfully.  It  is  the  greatest  treat 
in  the  world  to  take  Judy  to  see  a  really  good 
picture — how  her  eyes  shine  in  her  dear  face 


HONE  YMOON.  93 

when  she  looks  at  it.  My  sweet  little  Judy,  Jas 
per  does  not  care  for  me  to  talk  much  to  you, 
but  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul;  it  is 
the  one  drawback  to  my  perfect  happiness  that 
I  must  be  parted  from  you." 

Hilda  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  going  over  to  a 
table  on  which  her  traveling-  bag  stood,  opened 
it,  pressed  the  spring  on  a  certain  lock,  and  tak 
ing  out  a  little  crumpled,  stained  letter,  read  the 
words  written  on  it. 

"  My  darling  Hilda  [wrote  the  poor  little 
scribe],  this  is  to  say  that  I  love  you  better  than 
anyone  else  in  the  world.  I'll  always  go  on  lov 
ing  you  best  of  all.  Please  take  a  thousand  mil 
lion  kisses,  and  never  forget  Judy. 

"  P.  S. — I'll  pray  for  you  every  day  and  every 
night.  I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy.  I  won't 
fret  if  you  don't.  This  letter  is  packed  with 

10Ve-  "JUDY." 

A  step  was  heard  along  the  passage;  Hilda 
folded  up  the  letter,  slipped  it  back  into  its 
hiding  place,  and  ran  down  the  long  room  to 
meet  her  husband. 

"  Well,  my  darling,"  he  exclaimed;  "  the  Eng 
lish  mail  has  just  come  in,  and  here's  a  budget 
for  you." 


94  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  And  a  budget  for  you  too,  Jasper.  What 
a  heap  of  letters!  " 

'  Yes,  and  one  of  them  is  from  Rivers.  He 
rather  wants  me  in  London:  there's  a  good  case 
coming  on  at  the  Law  Courts;  he  says  I  shall  be 
counsel  for  it  if  I'm  in  town.  What  do  you  say 
to  coming  back  to  London  on  Saturday, 
Hilda?  " 

'  You  know  I  shall  be  only  too  delighted;  I 
am  just  pining  to  be  home  again.  Do  you 
think  we  could  go  down  to  the  Rector}'?  I 
should  so  like  to  spend  Sunday  there." 

"  My  darling,  what  are  you  thinking  of?  I 
want  to  be  in  London,  not  in  Hampshire.  Now 
that  I  have  got  you,  sweetheart,  I  must  neglect 
no  chance  of  work." 

Hilda's  face  turned  slightly  pale. 

"  Of  course,  darling,"  she  said,  looking  up 
sweetly  at  her  tall  husband;  "  but  where  are  we 
to  go  on  Saturday  night?  You  spoke  of  going 
home." 

"  And  so  we  are  going  home,  my  love — or 
rather  we  are  going  toward  home;  but  as  we 
have  not  taken  a  house  yet,  we  must  spend  a 
week  with  the  Malverns  when  first  we  get  to 
England.  I  will  send  a  line  to  my  aunt,  and  tell 
her  to  expect  us  on  Saturday." 

Hilda   said    nothing   more.     She    smothered 


HONE  YMOON.  95 

the  ghost  of  a  sigh,  and  sitting  down  by  the 
wood  fire,  which,  notwithstanding  the  genial 
weather,  was  acceptable  enough  in  their  lofty 
room,  began  to  open  her  letters.  The  Rectory 
budget  was  of  course  first  attended  to.  It  con 
tained  several  inclosures — one  from  her  father, 
which  was  short  and  principally  occupied  over 
a  review  of  the  last  new  theological  book  he  had 
been  reading,  one  from  Aunt  Marjorie,  and  one 
from  Miss  Mills. 

"  None  from  Judy,"  said  Hilda,  in  a  voice  of 
surprise;  "  she  has  only  written  to  me  once  since 
we  were  married." 

She  spoke  aloud,  and  looked  up  at  her  hus 
band  for  sympathy.  He  was  reading  a  letter  of 
his  own,  and  its  contents  seemed  to  amuse  him, 
for  he  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  What  is  it,  Jasper?  "  asked  Hilda.  "  What 
is  amusing  you?  " 

"  Something  Rivers  has  said,  my  love.  I'll 
tell  you  presently.  Capital  fellow  he  is;  if  I  get 
this  brief  I  shall  be  in  tremendous  luck." 

Hilda  opened  Aunt  Marjorie's  letter  and  be 
gan  to  read.  The  old  lady  was  a  somewhat 
rambling  correspondent.  Her  letters  were  al 
ways  closely  written  and  voluminous.  Hilda 
had  to  strain  her  young  eyes  to  decipher  all  the 
sentences. 


9$  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  I  must  say  I  dislike  poverty  [wrote  Aunt 
Marjorie] ;  you  are  well  out  of  it,  Hilda.  It  is 
my  private  conviction  that  your  father  has  ab 
solutely  forgotten  that  his  income  has  jumped 
down  in  a  single  day  from  three  thousand  three 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year  to  the  three 
hundred  and  fifty  vvithout  the  odd  thousands; 
he  goes  on  just  as  he  has  always  done,  and  is 
perfectly  happy.  Dean  Sharp  sent  him  his  last 
book  a  week  ago,  and  he  has  done  nothing  but 
read  it  and  talk  of  it  ever  since — his  conversation 
in  consequence  is  most  tiresome.  I  miss  you 
awfully,  my  love.  I  never  could  stand  theology, 
even  when  I  was  surrounded  by  comforts,  and 
now  when  I  have  to  stint  the  fires  and  suffer 
from  cold  feet,  you  may  imagine  how  unpleasant 
it  is  to  me.  My  dear  Hilda,  I  am  afraid  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  keep  Miss  Mills,  she  seems  to  get 
sillier  every  day;  it  is  my  private  conviction  that 
she  has  a  love  affair  on,  but  she's  as  mum  as  pos 
sible  about  it.  Poor  Sutton  cried  in  a  most 
heartrending  way  when  she  left;  she  said  when 
leaving, '  I'll  never  get  another  mistress  like  you, 
ma'am,  for  you  never  interfere,  even  to  the  clear 
ing  of  the  jellies.'  I  am  glad  she  appreciates 
me,  I  didn't  think  she  did  while  she  was  living 
with  us.  The  new  cook  can't  attempt  anything 


HONEYMOON.  97 

in  the  way  of  soup,  so  I  have  given  it  up  for  din 
ner;  but  your  father  never  appears  to  miss  it. 
The  garden  is  looking  horrible,  so  many  weeds 
about.  The  Anstruthers  have  all  gone  up  to 
London — taken  a  house  for  the  season  at  an 
enormous  price.  How  those  people  do  squan 
der  money;  may  they  never  know  what  it  is  for 
it  to  take  to  itself  wings! 

"  By  the  way,  Judy  has  not  been  well;  she 
caught  cold  or  something  the  day  of  your  wed 
ding,  and  was  laid  up  with  a  nasty  little  feverish 
attack  and  cough.  We  had  to  send  for  Dr. 
Harvey,  who  said  she  had  a  chill,  and  was  a 
good  deal  run  down.  She's  up  again  now,  but 
looks  like  a  ghost  with  her  big  eyes.  She  cer 
tainly  is  a  most  peculiar  child — I  don't  pretend 
to  understand  her.  She  crept  into  the  room  a 
minute  ago,  and  I  told  her  I  was  writing  to  you, 
and  asked  her  if  she  had  any  message.  She  got 
pink  all  over  just  as  if  she  were  going  to  cry,  and 
then  said: 

"  '  Tell  Hilda  that  I  am  not  fretting  a  bit,  that 
I  am  as  happy  as  possible.  Give  her  my  dear 
love  and  heaps  of  kisses  '  (my  dear  Hilda,  you 
must  take  them  for  granted,  for  I  am  not  going 
to  put  crosses  all  over  the  letter). 

"  Then  she  ran  out  of  the  room  as  if  she  had 


98  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

nothing  further  to  say — really  a  most  queer 
child.  Babs  is  a  little  treasure  and  the  comfort 
of  my  life. 

"  Your  affectionate  old  Aunt, 

"  MARJORIE." 

"  Jasper! "  said  Hilda,  in  a  choked  sort  of 
voice.  "  Jasper!  " 

"  What  is  it,  my  darling?  Why,  how  queer 
you  look,  your  face  is  quite  white!  " 

"  It  is  about  Judy;  she's  not  well!  "  said  Hilda. 
"  I  ought  to  go  to  her,  I  ought  not  to  delay. 
Couldn't  we  catch  the  night  mail?  " 

"  Good  gracious!  "  said  Quentyns,  alarmed  by 
Hilda's  manner.  "  What  is  wrong  with  the 
child?  If  it  is  anything  infectious 

"  No,  no,  it  is  nothing  of  that  sort;  but  in  any 
case,  whatever  it  is,  I  ought  to  go  to  her — I 
ought  not  to  delay.  May  I  telegraph  to  say  we 
are  starting  at  once?  " 

"  My  darling,  how  excitable  you  are!  What 
can  be  wrong  with  the  child?  " 

"  Oh,  Jasper,  you  don't  understand — Aunt 
Marjorie  says Here,  read  this  bit." 

"  I  can't  read  that  crabbed,  crossed  writing, 
Hilda." 

"  Well,  I'll  read  it  aloud  to  you;  see  where  it 
begins — '  Judy  has  not  been  well '  " 


HONE  YMOON.  99 

Hilda  read  the  whole  passage,  a  lump  in  her 
throat  almost  choking  her  voice.  When  she 
had  finished,  Quentyns  put  his  arms  round  her 
and  drew  her  to  his  heart. 

"  Why,  you  poor  little,  foolish,  nervous  crea 
ture,"  hs  eaid,  "there's  nothing  wrong  with  Judy 
now;  she  was  ill,  but  she's  much  better.  My 
darling  Hilda — my  love,  you  must  really  not 
disturb  yourself  about  a  trifling  mishap  of  this 
sort." 

"  It  isn't  a  trifle,  Jasper.  Oh,  I  know  Judy — 
I  know  how  she  looks  and  what  she  feels.  Oh, 
do,  do  let  me  go  back  to  her,  darling." 

"  You  read  that  letter  in  such  a  perturbed 
sort  of  voice  that  I  can  scarcely  follow  its  mean 
ings,"  said  Quentyns.  "  Here,  give  it  to  me, 
and  let  me  see  for  myself  what  it  is  all  about. 
Why  will  old  ladies  write  such  villainous  hands? 
Where  does  the  passage  begin,  Hilda?  Sit 
down,  darling,  quiet  yourself.  Now  let  me  see, 
here  it  is — '  Judy  has  not  been  well '  ' 

Hilda's  hands  had  shaken  with  nervousness 
while  she  read  her  aunt's  letter  aloud,  but  Quen 
tyns  held  the  sheet  of  thin  paper  steadily.  As 
the  sentences  fell  from  his  lips,  his  full  tones 
seemed  to  put  new  meaning  into  them — the 
ghostly  terrors  died  out  of  Hilda's  heart.  When 
her  husband  laid  down  the  sheet  of  paper,  and 


100  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

turned  to  her  with  a  triumphant  smile,  she  could 
not  help  smiling  back  at  him  in  return. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  did  not  I  tell  you  there 
was  nothing  wrong  with  Judy  now?  What  a 
little  goose  you  are!  " 

"I  suppose  I  am;  and  if  you  really,  really  think 
— if  you  are  quite  sure  that  she's  all  right " 

"  Of  course,  I  am  absolutely  certain;  doesn't 
Aunt  Marjorie  say  so?  The  fact  is,  Hilda,  you 
make  too  great  a  fuss  about  that  little  sister  of 
yours — I  feel  almost  jealous  of  her." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

STARVED. 

If  I  leave  all  for  thee,  wilt  thou  exchange 
And  be  all  to  me  ?     Shall  I  never  miss 
Home-talk  and  blessing  and  the  common  kiss  ? 

— E.  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

In  the  first  pleasant  spring-time  of  that  same 
year,  Mrs.  Anstruther,  a  very  gay  and  fashion 
able-looking  woman  of  between  forty  and  fifty 
years  of  age,  turned  on  a  certain  morning  to  her 
daughter  and  made  a  remark: 

"  Don't  forget  that  we  must  pay  some  calls 
this  afternoon,  Mildred." 

Mildred  was  standing  by  the  window  of  their 
beautiful  drawing  room.  The  window-boxes 
had  just  been  filled  with  lovely  spring  flowers; 
she  was  bending  over  them  and  with  deft  fingers 
arranging  the  blossoms  and  making  certain 
small  alterations,  which  had  the  effect  of  group 
ing  the  different  masses  of  color  more  artistic 
ally  than  the  gardener  had  done. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  she  said,  half  turning  her 
handsome  head  and  glancing  back  at  her  parent. 
"  We  are  to  make  calls.  I  am  quite  agreeable." 

"  I  wish  you  would  take  an  interest,  Mildred; 


102  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

it  is  so  unpleasant  going  about  with  people  who 
are  only  just  '  quite  agreeable.'  Now,  when  I 
was  a  young  girl " 

"  Oh,  please,  mother,  don't!  The  times  have 
completely  changed  since  you  were  young;  en 
thusiasm  has  gone  out  of  fashion.  I  am  noth 
ing  if  I  am  not  fashionable!  Of  course,  if  calls 
have  to  be  made,  I  shall  make  them.  I'll  put 
on  my  most  becoming  bonnet,  and  my  prettiest 
costume,  and  I'll  sit  in  the  carriage  by  your  side, 
and  enter  the  houses  of  those  friends  who  hap 
pen  to  be  at  home,  and  I'll  smile  and  look  agree 
able,  and  people  will  say,  '  What  an  amiable 
woman  Miss  Anstruther  is! '  I'll  do  the  correct 
thing  of  course,  only  I  suppose  it  is  not  neces 
sary  for  my  heart  to  go  pitter-patter  over  it. 
By  the  way,  have  you  made  out  a  list  of  the  un 
fortunates  who  are  to  be  victimized  by  our 
presence  this  afternoon?  " 

Mrs.  Anstruther  sighed,  and  gazed  in  some 
discontent  at  her  daughter. 

"  It  is  so  disagreeable  not  to  understand 
people,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  profess  to  under 
stand  you,  Mildred.  If  you  will  give  me  my 
visiting-book  I  can  soon  tell  you  the  places 
where  we  ought  to  go.  And  oh,  by  the  way, 
should  we  not  call  on  Hilda  Quentyns?  she  has 
taken  a  house  somewhere  in  West  Kensington." 


STARVED.  103 

"  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  Quen- 
tyns  are  in  town?  "  said  Mildred,  turning  sharply 
round  and  gazing  at  her  mother. 

"  Of  course;  they  have  been  in  London  for 
some  time.  I  met  Lady  Malvern  yesterday,  and 
she  gave  me  Hilda's  address.  She  seems  to 
have  gone  to  live  in  a  very  poky  place.  See,  I 
have  entered  the  name  in  my  address-book — 10, 
Philippa  Road,  West  Kensington." 

"  Then  of  course  we'll  go  to  her — that  will  be 
really  nice,"  said  Mildred  with  enthusiasm. 
"  We  might  go  to  Hilda  first  and  spend  some 
little  time  with  her." 

"  But  Mrs.  Milward's  '  at  home  '  begins  quite 
early.  I  should  not  like  to  miss  that." 

"Who  cares  for  Mrs.  Milward!  Look  here, 
mother,  suppose  you  pay  the  calls  and  let  me  go 
and  see  Hilda.  I  have  a  good  deal  I  want  to 
talk  over  with  her;  for  one  thing,  I  want  to  say 
something  about  Judy." 

"  Poor,  queer  little  Judy,"  said  Mrs.  An- 
struther  with  a  laugh.  "  What  can  you  pos 
sibly  have  to  say  about  her?' ' 

"  I  don't  think  Judy  is  at  all  well,"  said  Mil 
dred.  "  There  is  such  a  thing  as  dying  of  heart- 
hunger.  If  ever  a  child  suffered  from  that  old- 
fashioned  complaint,  it  is  that  poor  mite  at 
Little  Staunton  Rectory." 


104  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  My  dear  Mildred,  you  get  more  absurd 
every  day.  Judy  lives  in  a  most  comfortable 
home,  for  notwithstanding  their  poverty,  old 
Aunt  Marjorie  manages  to  keep  everything 
going  in  really  respectable  style.  The  child  has 
a  loving  father,  a  devoted  aunt,  a  dear  little  sis 
ter,  and  an  excellent  governess,  and  you  talk  of 
her  dying  of  heart-hunger!  It  is  absurd." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Mildred, — she  stopped 
abruptly,  her  bright  eyes  looked  across  the  room 
and  out  through  the  open  window, — "  neverthe 
less,"  she  said,  giving  her  foot  an  impatient  tap, 
"  I  should  like  to  see  Hilda.  I  should  like  to 
have  a  long  talk  with  her.  I  have  heard  noth 
ing  about  her  since  her  wedding,  so  by  your 
leave,  mother,  I'll  drive  over  to  West  Kensing 
ton  immediately  after  lunch  and  send  the  vic 
toria  back  for  you." 

Mrs.  Anstruther,  who  was  always  more  or  less 
like  wTax  in  the  hands  of  her  strong-minded 
daughter,  was  obliged  somewhat  unwillingly  to 
submit  to  this  arrangement;  and  Mildred, 
charmingly  dressed  and  looking  young  and 
lovely,  was  bowled  rapidly  away  in  the  direction 
of  Hilda  Ouentyns'  humble  home  soon  after  two 
o'clock. 

"  It  will  be  pleasant  to  take  the  poor  old  dear 
by  surprise,"  said  Mildred  to  herself.  "  There 


STARVED.  105 

was  a  time  when  I  felt  jealous  of  her  good  for 
tune  in  having  secured  Jasper  Quentyns,  but, 
thank  goodness,  I  have  quite  got  over  the 
assaults  of  the  green-eyed  monster  now.  Ah, 
here  we  are.  What  a  queer  little  street! — what 
frightfully  new  and  yet  picturesque  houses! 
They  look  like  dove-cotes.  I  wonder  if  this  pair 
of  turtle-doves  coo  in  their  nest  all  day  long." 

The  footman  jumped  down  and  rang  the  door 
bell.  In  a  moment  a  neatly-dressed  but  very 
young  looking  servant  stood  in  the  open  door 
way. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Quentyns  was  at  home,"  she  said, 
and  Mildred  entered  Hilda's  pretty  house. 

She  went  into  the  drawing  room,  and  stood 
somewhat  impatiently  waiting  for  her  hostess  to 
appear.  The  little  room  was  furnished  with  an 
eye  to  artistic  effect,  the  walls  were  decorated 
with  good  taste.  The  furniture  was  new,  as 
well  as  pretty.  One  beautiful  photogravure 
from  Burne  Jones's  "  Wheel  of  Fortune  "  was 
hung  over  the  mantelpiece.  Hilda  and  Quen 
tyns,  faithfully  represented  by  an  Italian  pho 
tographer,  stood  side  by  side  in  a  little  frame  on 
one  of  the  brackets.  Mildred  felt  herself  draw 
ing  one  or  two  heavy  sighs. 

"  I  don't  know  what  there  is  about  this  little 
room,  but  I  like  it,"  she  murmured;  "  nay,  more, 


106  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

I  love  it.  I  can  fancy  good  people  inhabiting 
it.  I  am  quite  certain  that  Love  has  not  yet 
flown  out  of  the  window.  I  am  quite  sure,  too, 
of  another  thing,  that  even  if  Poverty  does  come 
in  at  this  door,  Love  will  remain.  Oh,  silly 
Hilda,  what  have  you  to  do  with  the  '  Wheel  of 
Fortune'  ?  your  position  is  assured;  you  dwell 
safely  enthroned  in  the  heart  of  a  good  man. 
Oh,  happy  Hilda!" 

The  door  was  opened,  and  Hilda  Quentyns 
smiling,  with  roses  on  her  cheeks  and  words  of 
delighted  welcome  on  her  lips,  rushed  into  the 
room. 

"  How  sweet  of  you  to  call,  Mildred,"  she  ex 
claimed.  "  I  was  just  wondering  if  you  would 
take  any  notice  of  me." 

"  You  dear  creature,"  said  Mildred,  kissing 
Hilda  and  patting  her  on  the  shoulder.  "  Two 
hours  ago  I  heard  for  the  first  time  that  you 
were  in  London.  I  ate  my  lunch  and  ordered 
the  victoria,  and  put  on  my  prettiest  bonnet  and 
drove  over  to  see  you  as  fast  as  ever  the  horses 
would  bring  me.  I  could  not  well  pay  my  re 
spects  to  Mrs.  Quentyns  in  a  shorter  time." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Hilda. 

"  How  childish  you  look,"  replied  Mildred,, 
gazing  at  her  in  a  rather  dissatisfied  way;  "  you 
have  no  responsibilities  at  all  now,  your  Jasper 


STARVED.  107 

takes  the  weight  of  everything,  and  you  live  in 
perpetual  sunshine.  Is  the  state  of  bliss  as  bliss 
ful  as  we  have  always  been  led  to  imagine,  Hilda, 
or  are  the  fairy  tales  untrue,  and  does  the  prince 
only  exist  in  one's  imagination?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  he  is  real,  quite  real,"  said  Hilda. 
"  I  am  as  happy  as  it  is  possible  for  a  human 
being  to  be.  Jasper — but  I  won't  talk  of  him 
— you  know  what  I  really  think  of  him.  Now 
let  me  show  you  my  house.  Isn't  it  a  sweet 
little  home?  Wasn't  it  good  of  Jasper  to  come 
here?  He  wanted  a  flat,  but  when  he  saw  that 
my  heart  was  set  on  a  little  house,  he  took  this. 
Don't  you  like  our  taste  in  furniture,  Milly? 
Oh,  Milly  dear,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  It  is  nice 
to  look  at  one  of  the  dear  home-faces  again." 

"  Come  and  show  me  your  house,"  said  Mil 
dred;  "  I  am  going  to  stay  a  long  time — all  the 
afternoon,  if  possible." 

"  I  am  more  than  glad;  you  must  remain  to 
dinner.  I  will  telegraph  to  Jasper  to  come 
home  early." 

"  I  don't  mind  if  I  do,"  said  Mildred.  "  I 
have  no  very  special  engagements  for  this  even 
ing,  and  even  if  I  had  I  should  be  disposed  to 
break  them.  It  is  not  often  one  gets  the  chance 
of  spending  an  hour  in  a  nest  with  two  turtle 
doves." 


108  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Hilda,  "  that  sounds  as 
if  you  were  laughing  at  us.  Now  you  shall  see 
the  house,  and  then  we'll  have  tea  together,  and 
you  must  tell  me  all  about  the  old  place." 

The  turtle-doves'  nest  was  a  very  minute 
abode.  There  was  only  one  story,  and  the  bed 
rooms  in  consequence  were  small  and  few. 

"Aren't  we  delightfully  economical?"  said 
Hilda,  throwing  open  the  door  of  her  own  room. 
"  Is  not  this  wee  chamber  the  perfection  of  snug- 
ness?  and  this  is  Jasper's  dressing  room,  and 
here  is  such  a  dear  little  bath-room;  and  this  is 
the  spare-room  (we  have  not  furnished  it  yet, 
but  Jasper  says  we  can't  afford  to  have  many 
visitors,  so  I'm  not  making  any  special  haste). 
And  this  is  our  servants'-room ;  I  did  not  think 
when  we  lived  at  Little  Staunton  that  two  serv 
ants  could  fit  into  such  a  tiny  closet,  but  these 
London  girls  seem  quite  to  like  it.  Now,  Mil 
dred,  come  downstairs.  You  have  looked  over 
this  thimbleful  of  a  house,  and  I  hope  it  has 
pleased  you.  Come  downstairs  and  let  us  talk. 
I  am  starving  for  news." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  begin  catechising  to  your 
heart's  content,"  said  Mildred.  She  threw  her 
self  back  into  the  easiest  of  the  easy-chairs  as  she 
spoke,  and  toasted  her  feet  before  Hilda's  cheer- 


STARVED.  log 

ful  fire.  "  What  do  you  want  to  know  first, 
Mrs.  Quentyns?" 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  left  home — when 
did  you  see  them  all?  " 

"  I  was  at  home  a  fortnight  ago,  and  I  spent 
the  greater  part  of  one  afternoon  at  the  Rec 
tory." 

"  Oh,  did  you?     Is  it  awfully  changed?  " 

"  No;  the  house  is  in  statu  quo.  It  looks  just 
as  handsome  and  stately  and  unconcerned  as  of 
old.  Aunt  Marjorie  says  it  is  full  of  dust,  but  I 
did  not  notice  any.  Aunt  Marjorie  has  got 
quite  a  new  wrinkle  between  her  brows,  and  she 
complains  a  great  deal  of  the  young  cook,  but 
my  private  opinion  is  that  that  unfortunate  cook 
is  your  aunt's  salvation,  for  she  gives  her  some 
thing  else  to  think  of  besides  the  one  perpetual 
grievance." 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,"  said  Hilda,  a  little  impatiently, 
"poor  dear  Aunt  Maggie;  and  what  about  the 
others?  How  is  my  father?  " 

"  He  looks  thin,  and  his  hair  is  decidedly  sil 
vered;  but  his  eyes  just  beamed  at  me  with  kind 
ness.  He  never  spoke  once  about  the  change 
in  his  circumstances,  and  on  Sunday  he  preached 
a  sermon  which  set  me  crying." 

"  Dear  Mildred,  I  think  father's  sermons  were 


HO  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

always  beautiful.  How  I  should  like  to  hear 
him  once  again!  " 

"  So  you  will,  of  course,  very  soon;  they're  all 
expecting  you  down.  Why  don't  you  go?  " 

The  faintest  shadow  of  a  cloud  flitted  across 
Hilda's  face. 

"  Jasper  is  so  busy,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  go  without  him.  I  am  quite  con 
vinced  you  would  do  them  a  sight  of  good." 

"  Jasper  does  not  like  me  to  leave  him,"  said 
Hilda;  "we  both  intend  to  run  down  to  the 
Rectory  for  a  flying  visit  soon,  but  he  is  so  busy 
just  at  present  that  he  cannot  fix  a  day.  Go  on, 
Milly,  tell  me  about  the  others.  What  of  Babs?  " 

"  I  saw  her  squatting  down  on  the  middle  of 
the  floor  with  a  blind  kitten  just  three  days  old 
in  her  lap.  The  kitten  squalled  frightfully,  and 
Babs  kept  on  calling  it  '  poor,  pretty  darling.'  I 
thought  badly  of  the  kitten's  future  prospects, 
but  well  of  its  nurse's;  she  looked  particularly 
flourishing." 

"  And  Judy?  "  said  Hilda,  "  she  wasn't  well  a 
little  time  ago,  but  Aunt  Marjorie  has  said  noth 
ing  about  her  health  lately.  Has  she  quite, 
quite  recovered?  Did  she  look  ill?  Did  you 
see  much  of  her?  " 

"  She  was  sitting  in  the  ingle-nook,  reading 
a  book." 


STARVED.  Ill 

"Reading  a  book!"  said  Hilda;  "but  Judy 
does  not  like  reading.  Was  the  day  wet  when 
you  called  at  the  Rectory?  " 

"  No;  the  sun  was  shining  all  the  time." 

"  Why  wasn't  she  out  scampering  and  run 
ning  all  the  time,  and  hunting  for  grubs?  " 

"  She  had  a  cough,  not  much,  just  a  little 
hack,  and  Aunt  Marjorie  thought  she  had  better 
stay  indoors." 

"  Then  she  is  not  quite  well!  " 

"  Aunt  Marjorie  says  she  is,  and  that  the  hack 
is  nothing  at  all.  By  the  way,  Hilda,  if  your 
husband  won't  spare  you  to  go  down  to  the 
Rectory,  why  don't  you  have  that  child  here  on 
a  visit?  Nothing  in  the  world  would  do  her  so 
much  good  as  a  sight  of  your  face." 

"  Oh,  I  know,  I  know;  my  little  Judy,  my 
treasure!  But  the  spare-room  is  not  ready,  and 
Jasper  is  so  prudent,  he  won't  go  in  debt  for  even 
a  shilling's-worth.  He  has  spent  all  his  avail 
able  money  on  the  house  furnishing,  and  says 
the  spare-room  must  wait  for  a  month  or  so. 
As  soon  as  ever  it  is  furnished,  Judy  is  to  be  the 
first  guest." 

"  Can't  you  hire  a  little  bedstead  of  some 
sort?"  said  Mildred,  "and  put  it  up  in  that 
room,  and  send  for  the  child.  What  does  Judy 
care  about  furnished  rooms!  " 


112  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  You  think  she  looks  really  ill,  do  you,  Mil 
dred?" 

"  I  will  be  candid  with  you,  Hilda.  I  did  not 
like  her  look — she  suffers.  It  is  sad  to  read 
suffering  in  a  child's  eyes.  When  I  got  a  peep 
into  Judy's  eyes  I  could  see  that  her  soul  was 
drooping  for  want  of  nourishment.  She  is  with 
out  that  particular  thing  which  is  essential  to 
hu-." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"  Your  love.  Do  send  for  her,  Hilda.  Never 
mind  whether  the  spare-room  is  furnished  or 
not." 

Hilda  sat  and  fidgeted  with  her  gold  chain. 
Her  face,  which  had  been  full  of  smiles  and 
dimples,  was  now  pale  with  emotion,  her  eyes 
were  full  of  trouble. 

"  Why  are  you  so  irresolute?  "  asked  Mildred 
impatiently. 

"  Oh,  I — I  don't  know.  I  am  not  quite  my 
own  mistress.  I — I  must  think." 

The  servant  entered  the  room  with  a  letter 
on  a  little  salver.  Hilda  took  it  up. 

"  Why,  this  is  from  Judy,"  she  exclaimed. 
*'  Perhaps  she's  much  better  already.  Do  you 
mind  my  reading  it,  Mildred?  " 

"  Read  it,  certainly.  I  shall  like  to  know 
how  the  dear  queer  mite  is  getting  on." 


STARVED.  113 

Hilda  opened  her  letter,  and,  taking  out  a  tiny 
pink  sheet,  read  a  few  words  written  on  it. 

"  MY  DEAR  HILDA: 

"  I  am  writing  you  a  little  letter.  I  hope 
you  are  quite  well.  I  don't  fret,  and  I  hope  you 
don't.  I  think  of  you  and  never  forget  you.  I 
give  you  a  kiss  for  now  and  for  to-night,  and  for 
every  other  night,  and  a  million,  thousand  kisses 
for  always. 

"  Your  loving 

"  JUDY." 

"  Here  are  my  kisses." 

A  whole  lot  of  crosses  and  round  o's  followed. 
"  Here  is  my  tex  for  us  both.     '  The  Lord 
wach  between  me  and  thee.' 

"  JUDY." 

Hilda's  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears. 

"  There  is  something  else  in  the  envelope," 
she  exclaimed.  "  I  think  a  scrawl  from  Aunt 
Marjorie.  I  had  a  volume  from  her  yesterday. 
I  wonder  what  she  wants  to  write  about  again." 

"  MY  DARLING  HILDA: 

"  Now  don't  be  frightened,  my  dear,  but 
I  have  something  to  tell  you  which  I  think  you 
ought  to  know.  Our  dear  little  Judy  fainted  in 
a  rather  alarming  way  in  church  yesterday.  Of 


U4  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

course  we  sent  for  the  doctor,  and  he  says  she  is 
very  weak,  and  must  stay  in  bed  for  a  day  or  two. 
He  says  we  need  not  be  alarmed,  but  that  her 
strength  is  a  good  deal  rim  down,  and  that  she 
must  have  been  fretting  about  something.  It 
just  shows  how  little  doctors  know,  for  I  never 
saw  the  child  sweeter,  or  more  gentle,  or  more 
easily  amused.  You  know  what  a  troublesome 
little  creature  she  used  to  be,  always  flashing 
about  and  upsetting  things,  and  bringing  all 
kinds  of  obnoxious  insects  into  the  house;  but 
she  has  been  just  like  a  lamb  since  your  wedding, 
sifting  contentedly  by  my  side,  looking  over  her 
fairy  story-books,  and  assuring  me  she  wasn't 
fretting  in  the  least  about  you,  and  that  she  was 
perfectly  happy.  Babs  did  say  that  she  heard 
her  crying  now  and  then  at  night,  but  I  fancy 
the  child  must  have  been  mistaken,  for  Judy  cer 
tainly  would  not  conceal  any  trouble  from  me. 
I  will  write  to  you  again  about  her  to-morrow. 
She  directed  this  envelope  to  you  herself  yester 
day  morning  before  church,  so  I  am  slipping  my 
letter  into  it.  Don't  be  frightened,  dear,  we  are 
taking  all  possible  care  of  her. 

"  Your  affectionate 

"  AUNT   MARJORIE." 

"  There,"  said  Hilda,  looking  up  with  a  queer, 


STARVED.  US 

terrified  expression  in  her  eyes,  "  I  knew  how  it 
would  be.  I  married  Jasper  to  please  myself, 
and  I  have  killed  Judy.  Judy's  heart  is  broken. 
Oh,  what  shall  I  do,  Milly,  what  shall  I  do?  '' 

"  Let  me  read  Aunt  Marjorie's  letter,"  said 
Mildred. 

Her  quick,  practical  eyes  glanced  rapidly  over 
the  old  lady's  illegible  writing. 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  killed  her,  Hilda," 
said  Miss  Anstruther  then,  "  but  she  is  simply 
fading  away  for  want  of  the  love  which  was  her 
life.  Go  back  to  her;  go  back  at  once,  and  she 
will  revive.  Come,  there  is  not  a  moment  to  be 
lost.  I'll  run  out  and  send  a  telegram  to  Little 
Staunton.  I'll  tell  them  to  expect  you  this 
evening.  Where's  an  A  B  C?  Have  you  got 
one?  " 

"  I  think  there  is  one  on  the  wagon  in  the  din 
ing  room.  I'll  fetch  it." 

Hilda  ran  out  of  the  room;  she  brought  back 
the  time-table  in  a  moment.  Her  face  was 
white;  her  hands  shook  so  that  she  could 
scarcely  turn  the  leaves. 

"  Let  me  find  the  place,"  said  Mildred. 
"  There,  let  me  see.  Oh,  what  a  pity,  you  have 
lost  the  four  o'clock  train,  and  there  isn't  an 
other  until  seven.  Never  mind,  say  you  will 
take  that  one.  You'll  arrive  at  Bickley  at 


n6  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

twenty  minutes  to  ten,  and  soon  after  ten  you'll 
be  at  the  Rectory.  I'll  run  at  once  and  send  off 
the  telegram,  for  the  sooner  Judy's  heart  is  re 
lieved  the  better." 

Mildred  rushed  to  the  davenport,  filled  in  a 
telegraph-form,  and  brought  it  to  Hilda  to  read. 

"  There,  is  that  right?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Put 
your  name  to  it  if  you  are  satisfied." 

Hilda  dashed  the  tears,  which  were  still  blind 
ing  her  eyes,  away. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  exclaimed,  "  that  will  do. 
Take  it  at  once,  this  moment,  before — before  I 
have  time  to  change  my  mind." 

Mildred  had  written,  "  Tell  Judy  to  expect  me 
at  ten  to-night."  Hilda  added  her  name,  and 
Mildred  prepared  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Good-by,  Hilda,"  she  said.  "  I  won't  come 
back,  for  you  will  need  all  your  time  to  pack, 
and  to  leave  things  in  order  for  your  Jasper. 
Good-by,  dear.  Of  course,  you  could  not  think 
of  changing  your  mind,  it  would  be  wicked, 
cruel;  yes,  it  would  be  terribly  cruel.  Good-by, 
Hilda, 'good-by." 

Mildred  seated  herself  in  the  victoria  and 
desired  her  coachman  to  drive  to  the  nearest 
telegraph-office. 

"  I  have  made  a  discovery,"  she  said,  under 
her  breath.  "  Jasper  Quentyns  was  not  the 


STARVED.  II? 

prince;  no,  my  prince  has  not  yet  shown  his 
shining  face  above  the  horizon.  Doubtless  he 
will  never  come;  but  better  that  than  to  think 
he  has  arrived  and  wake  to  find  him  common 
clay.  Hilda  is  absolutely  afraid  of  her  husband. 
No,  Hilda,  I  would  not  be  in  your  shoes  for  a 
good  deal." 


CHAPTER  X. 

WAITING. 

The  days  are  clear, 

Day  after  day, 
When  April's  here, 

That  leads  to  May, 
And  June 

Must  follow  soon. 
Stay,  June,  stay  ! 

If  only  we  could  stop  the  moon 

And  June  ! 

It  was  an  April  day,  but  the  weather  was  still 
cold  at  Little  Staunton,  and  Aunt  Marjorie 
thought  it  well  to  have  a  nice  bright  fire  burning 
in  Judy's  bedroom. 

Judy  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  her  hair  was 
combed  back  from  her  face,  she  wore  a  pink 
dressing-gown,  the  black  shadows  under  her 
eyes  were  not  so  marked  as  yesterday,  her  firm 
little  lips  had  an  expression  of  extreme  and 
touching  patience.  Judy's  movements  were 
somewhat  languid,  and  her  voice  when  she  spoke 
had  lost  its  high,  glad  pitch. 

Aunt  Marjorie  kept  coming  in  and  out  of  the 
room.  Miss  Mills  fussed  with  the  fire,  went  to 

118 


WAITING.  119 

the  window  to  look  out  over  the  landscape  and 
to  make  the  same  remark  many  times. 

"  How  late  the  spring  is  this  year,"  said  the 
governess,  in  her  dreary  monotone. 

Babs  stood  with  her  back  to  Judy,  sorting  a 
cabinet  full  of  curiosities.  There  was  no  shadow 
of  any  sorrow  on  Babs's  serene  face — her  full 
contented  voice  prattled  on  interminably. 

A  drawing-board  lay  on  Judy's  bed,  a  sheet  of 
drawing-paper,  two  or  three  pencils,  and  a  thick 
piece  of  india-rubber  lay  by  her  side.  For  over 
an  hour  she  had  been  drawing  industriously.  A 
pink  color  came  into  her  cheeks  as  she  worked, 
and  Aunt  Marjorie  said  to  herself: 

"  The  child  is  all  right — she  just  needed  a  little 
rest — she'll  soon  be  as  well  as  possible.  I'll  go 
downstairs  now,  and  write  to  Hilda  about  her." 

Miss  Mills  also  thought  that  Judy  looked  bet 
ter.  Miss  Mills  was  still  guilty  of  keeping  up  a 
somewhat  one-sided  correspondence  with  the 
person  whom  she  so  cordially  hated — she  had 
not  heard  from  him  for  nearly  a  month,  and 
thought  that  the  present  would  be  a  good 
opportunity  to  write  another  letter  to  remind 
him  of  her  existence.  So,  glancing  at  Judy  as 
she  went,  she  also  left  the  room. 

The  door  was  shut  carefully,  and  the  two  little 
sisters  were  alone.  When  this  happened,  Judy 


120  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

threw  down  her  pencils  and  gave  utterance  to  a 
faint,  quickly-smothered  sigh. 

"  Why  do  you  do  it  so  softly?  "  said  Babs,  not 
troubling  herself  to  turn  her  face,  but  still  keep 
ing  her  stout  back  to  her  sister. 

"  Do  what  so  softly?  "  asked  Judy. 

"  Those  groans  to  yourself.  Aunt  Marjorie 
won't  believe  that  you  ever  groan,  and  I  know 
you  do.  She  said  you  was  as  happy  as  the  day 
is  long,  and  I  said  you  wasn't.  You  know  you 
do  sob  at  night,  or  you  have  shecups  or  some 
thing." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Judy,  "  it's  very,  very, 
very  unkind  of  you,  Babs,  to  tell  Aunt  Marjorie 
what  I  do  at  night.  I  didn't  think  you'd  be  so 
awfully  mean.  I  am  ill  now,  and  Aunt  Maggie 
would  do  anything  for  me,  and  I'll  ask  her  to 
put  you  to  sleep  in  Miss  Mills's  room,  if  ever 
you  tell  what  I  do  at  night  again." 

"  I'll  never  tell  if  you  don't  wish  me  to,"  said 
Babs,  in  her  easy  tones.  "  You  may  sob  so 
that  you  may  be  heard  down  in  the  drawing 
room  and  I  won't  tell.  Look  here,  Judy,  I  have 
found  your  old  knife." 

"  What  old  knife?  " 

"  The  one  you  saved  that  animal  with  last 
autumn,  don't  you  remember?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes — the  dear  little  earwig.     Do 


WAITING,  iai 

let  me  see  the  knife,  Babs;  I  thought  I  had  lost 
it." 

"  No,  it  was  in  the  back  of  your  cabinet,  just 
under  all  the  peacock's  feathers.  Wasn't  the 
earwig  glad  when  you  saved  her?  " 

"  Yes,"  iaid  Judy,  smiling,  "  didn't  she  run 
home  fast  to  her  family?  She  was  sticking  in 
the  wood  and  couldn't  get  out,  poor  darling,  but 
my  dear  little  knife  cut  the  wood  away  and  then 
she  ran  home.  Oh,  didn't  she  go  fast!  " 

"  Yes,  didn't  she?  "  said  Babs,  laughing.  "  I 
think  earwigs  are  such  sweet  little  animals,  don't 
you,  Judy? " 

"  Insects,  you  mean,"  said  Judy.  "  Oh,  yes, 
I  love  them  special  because  most  people  hate 
the  poor  dears." 

"  What  are  you  drawing,  Judy?  What  a 
queer,  queer  picture!  " 

"  I'm  going  to  call  it  '  Where  the  nasty  fairies 
live,'  "  said  Judy,  "  but  I  haven't  finished  it. 
Babs,  how  long  is  it  since  Hilda  went  away?  " 

"  Weeks,  and  weeks,  and  weeks,"  replied 
Babs.  "  I  has  almost  forgotten  how  long." 

"  Years  and  years,  you  mean,"  said  Judy. 

The  little  pink  flush  of  excitement  faded  out 
of  her  cheeks,  her  eyes  looked  hollow,  the 
shadow  under  them  grew  darker  than  ever. 

There  came  a  rush  along  the  passage,  and 


122  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Aunt  Marjorie,  puffing  with  the  haste  she  had 
used,  but  trying  to  walk  slowly  and  to  speak 
calmly,  entered  the  room. 

"  Judy,  my  darling,"  shes  aid,  "  I  have  very 
good  news  for  you." 

"  For  me,"  said  Judy,  flushing  and  paling 
almost  in  the  same  moment. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  little  pet,  very  nice  news. 
Your  darling  Hilda  is  coming." 

"Aunt  Maggie!" 

"  Yes,  here's  a  telegram  from  her.  She  says 
in  it,  '  Tell  Judy  to  expect  me  at  ten  to-night.' 
Why,  my  darling,  how  white  you  are!  Babs, 
run  and  fetch  me  those  smelling-salts.  Now, 
Judy,  just  one  whiff.  Ah,  now  you're  better." 

"  Yes,  auntie,  much,  much,  much  better.  I 
am  only  awfully  happy." 

Judy  smiled,  and  the  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes; 
her  little  thin  hand  trembled,  she  tried  to  push 
her  drawing  materials  away. 

"Please  may  I  have  the  telegram?"  she  asked. 

"  Of  course  you  may,  my  darling.  Oh,  and 
here  comes  kind  Miss  Mills  with  your  chicken- 
broth.  Just  the  thing  to  set  you  up.  Drink  it 
off,  dear.  Miss  Mills,  our  sweet  Hilda  is  com 
ing  to-night.  I  have  just  had  a  telegram,  she'll 
be  here  about  ten." 

"Who's  to  meet  her?"   asked   Miss   Mills. 


WAITING.  123 

"  You  forget  that  there  are  no  horses  in  the 
stables  now,  and  no  carriage  in  the  coach 
house." 

"  I  did  forget,"  said  Aunt  Marjorie.  "  I  must 
send  a  message  to  Stephens  to  take  a  fly  to  the 
station." 

"  I'll  go  and  tell  him  as  soon  as  ever  tea  is 
over,"  answered  Miss  Mills.  "Ah,  Judy!  You'll 
soon  be  well  now,  Judy,  won't  you?  " 

"  I  am  well  already,"  said  Judy.  "  What 
delicious  chicken-broth!  Auntie  dear,  stoop 
down,  I  want  to  whisper  something  to  you." 

"  Yes,  my  dearie,  what  is  it?  " 

"  I  needn't  be  asleep  when  Hilda  comes,  need 
I?  You  will  let  me  sit  up  in  bed,  won't  you? 
I'll  promise  to  be  so  quiet,  I  won't  make  a  sound 
to  disturb  Babs,  but  I  should  love  to  be  awake 
and  waiting  for  darling  Hilda.  Please,  please, 
auntie,  say  I  may." 

"  My  darling — until  ten  oclock!  so  awfully 
late.  Judy  dear,  you're  getting  quite  feverish — 
you  must  calm  yourself,  my  pet.  Well,  then, 
well,  anything  to  soothe  you.  We'll  see  how 
you  keep,  dearie.  If  you  don't  get  at  all  excited, 
I — I'll  see  what  I  shall  do.  Now  I  must  leave 
you,  darling,  to  go  and  get  Hilda's  room  ready. 
I  wonder  if  Jasper  is  coming  with  her,  she 
doesn't  say  anything  about  him." 


124  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Aunt  Marjorie  trotted  out  of  the  room,  Miss 
Mills  started  on  her  walk  to  the  village,  and 
Judy  began  to  speak  eagerly  to  Babs. 

"I  am  quite  well,"  she  said;  "you'll  never 
hear  me  sob  again  at  night.  I  am  quite  the  hap 
piest  girl  in  the  world.  Oh,  think  of  kissing 
Hilda  again;  and  I  didn't  fret,  no,  I  didn't — not 
really.  Babs,  don't  you  think  you  might  make 
the  room  look  pretty?  You  might  get  out  all 
the  animals  and  put  them  on  the  chimney- 
piece." 

"  I'll  be  very  glad  to  do  that,"  replied  Babs. 
"  I  often  wanted  to  look  at  the  darlings,  but  it 
was  no  fun  when  you  didn't  wish  to  play  with 
them."  She  opened  a  little  box  as  she  spoke, 
and  taking  out  china  dogs,  cats,  cocks  and  hens, 
ducks,  giraffes,  elephants,  monkeys,  and  many 
other  varieties  of  the  animal  world,  bestowed 
them  with  what  taste  she  could  manage  on  the 
mantelpiece.  "Don't  they  look  sweet!"  she 
exclaimed.  "  I  suppose  you're  not  strong 
enough  to  have  a  game,  Judy?  If  you  could 
bray  like  the  donkey,  I'd  be  the  roaring  bull." 

"  To-morrow,  perhaps,  I  can,"  said  Judy,  in 
a  weak  voice;  "  but  the  room  is  not  half  ready 
yet.  I  want  you  to  pin  some  of  my  drawings 
and  some  of  my  texes  on  the  wall.  You'll  find 
them  in  my  own  box  if  you  open  it." 


WAITING.  125 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Babs  in  delight.  "  I  do  like 
making  the  room  pretty  for  Hilda,  and  you 
ordering  me.  You  may  purtend  if  you  like  that 
I  am  your  little  servant." 

"Very  well;  you're  putting  that  picture  up 
side  down.  Babs." 

"  Oh,  how  funny!     Is  that  right?  " 

"  No,  it's  awfully  crooked." 

For  the  next  half-hour  Babs  labored  hard,  and 
Judy  superintended,  giving  sharp  criticisms  and 
ordering  the  arrangements  of  the  chamber  with 
much  peremptoriness. 

"  Now  we  must  have  flowers,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  You  must  go  out  to  the  garden,  and  pick  all 
the  violets  you  can  get." 

"  But  it's  very  late  to  go  out,"  said  Babs, 
"  and  Miss  Mills  will  be  angry." 

"As  if  that  mattered!  Who  cares  who  is 
angry  when  Hilda  is  coming?  The  worst  Miss 
Mills  can  do  is  to  punish  you,  and  you  won't 
mind  that  when  you  think  about  Hilda.  I  know 
where  there  are  violets,  white  and  blue,  on  that 
south  bank  after  you  pass  the  shrubbery;  you 
know  the  bank  where  the  bees  burrow^,  and 
where  we  catch  ladybirds  in  the  summer;  run, 
Babs,  do  run  at  once  and  pick  all  you  can  find." 

Judy's  room  was  decorated  to  perfection. 
Judy  herself  lay  in  her  white  bed,  with  pink  roses 


126  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

on  her  cheeks,  and  eyes  like  two  faintly  shining 
stars,  and  smiles  coming  and  going  on  her  lips, 
and  eager  words  dropping  now  and  then  from 
her  impatient  little  tongue. 

"  What  is  the  hour  now,  Aunt  Marjorie?  Is 
it  really  only  half-past  nine?  " 

"  It  is  five-and-twenty  to  ten,  Judy,  and  Miss 
Mills  has  gone  in  the  fly  to  the  station,  and  your 
Hilda  will  be  back,  if  the  train  is  punctual,  by 
ten  o'clock.  How  wonderfully  well  you  look, 
my  darling.  I  did  right  after  all  to  let  you  sit 
up  in  bed  to  wait  for  your  dear  sister." 

'  Yes,  I  am  quite  well,  only — I  hope  Jasper 
won't  come  too." 

"  Oh,  fie!  my  pet.  You  know  you  ought  not 
to  say  that  treasonable  sort  of  thing — Jasper  is 
Jasper,  one  of  the  family,  and  we  must  welcome 
his  as  such — but  between  ourselves,  just  for  no 
one  else  to  hear  in  all  the  wide  world,  I  do  hope 
also  that  our  dear  little  Hilda  will  come  here  by 
herself." 

Judy  threw  her  thin  arms  round  Aunt  Mar- 
jorie's  neck  and  gave  her  a  silent  hug. 

"  I'll  never  breathe  what  you  said,"  she  whis 
pered  back  in  her  emphatic  voice. 

Babs  slept  peacefully  in  her  cot  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room.  The  white  and  blue  violets 
lay  in  a  tiny  bowl  on  the  little  table  by  Judy's 


WAITIXG.  127 

bed.  The  nimble  of  wheels  was  heard  in  the 
avenue.  Aunt  Marjorie  started  to  her  feet,  and 
the  color  flew  from  Judy's  face. 

"  It  cannot  be  Hilda  yet,"  exclaimed  the  aunt. 
"  No,  of  course,  it  is  the  doctor.  He  will  say 
that  you  are  better  to-night,  Judy." 

The  medical  man  entered  the  room,  felt  the 
pulse  of  his  little  patient,  looked  into  her  eyes, 
and  gave  utterance  to  a  few  cheerful  words. 

"  The  child  is  much  better,  isn't  she?  "  asked 
Aunt  Marjorie,  following  him  out  of  the  room. 

"  Hum!  I  am  not  so  sure;  her  pulse  is  weak 
and  quick,  and  for  some  reason  she  is  extremely 
excited.  What  is  she  sitting  up  in  bed  for?  she 
ought  to  have  been  in  the  land  of  dreams  a  long 
time  ago." 

"  Don't  you  know,  Dr.  Harvey;  didn't  we  tell 
you,  my  niece,  Mrs.  Ouentyns,  is  expected  to 
night?  and  Judy  is  sitting  up  to  see  her." 

"  Suspense  is  very  bad  for  my  little  patient. 
What  time  is  Mrs.  Quentyns  expected  to  ar 
rive?  " 

"  About  ten.  Judy  is  especially  attached  to 
her  sister,  and  if  I  had  insisted  on  her  trying  to 
go  to  sleep,  she  would  have  tossed  about  and 
worked  herself  into  a  fever." 

"  She  is  very  nearly  in  one  now,  and  I  don't 
particularly  like  the  look  of  excitement  in  her 


128  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

eyes.  I  hope  Mrs.  Quentyns  will  be  punctual. 
As  soon  as  ever  she  comes,  the  child  must  settle 
to  sleep.  Give  her  a  dose  of  that  bromide  mix 
ture  immediately  after.  I'll  come  and  see  her 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning." 


CHAPTER  XL 

HUSBAND     AND     WIFE. 

But  she  is  far  away 

Now;  nor  the  hours  of  night,  grown  hoar, 
Bring,  yet  to  me,  long  gazing,  from  the  door. 
The  wind-stirred  robe  of  roseate  gray, 
And  rose-cream  of  the  hour  that  leads  the  day, 
When  we  shall  meet  once  more. 

— D.  G.  ROSSETTI. 

Hilda  Quentyns,  Judy's  idol,  was  not  the 
strongest  of  characters.  She  was  very  sweet 
and  amiable,  intensely  true  and  affectionate  to 
those  to  whom  she  gave  her  heart,  but  she  was 
somewhat  timorous  and  somewhat  easily  led. 

Long  ago,  when  Babs  was  a  baby,  Hilda's 
mother  had  died.  Since  then  Judy  had  been  her 
special  care. 

Now  with  trembling  hands  she  packed  her 
portmanteau,  gave  the  young  cook  and  parlor 
maid  directions  what  to  do  in  her  absence,  and 
then  sitting  down  before  her  davenport,  pre 
pared  to  write  an  explanatory  letter  to  her  hus 
band. 

She  thought  it   quite  probable  that  Jasper 


13°  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

would  be  angry  with  her  for  rushing  off  like  this, 
but  for  once  she  intended  to  brave  his  dis 
pleasure. 

In  her  heart  of  hearts  she  knew  exactly  the 
state  Judy  was  in.  The  ardent  soul  was  wear 
ing  out  the  delicate  little  frame.  That  suffer 
ing  which  Judy  would  not  speak  of,  which  she 
was  too  brave  to  show  sign  or  whisper  of,  was 
making  her  body  ill.  If  Hilda  went  to  her  dar 
ling,  the  suffering  would  cease.  Love  would 
shine  all  round  Judy's  starved  heart,  and  she 
would  soon  be  well  and  strong  again. 

"  Yes,  it  is  my  manifest  duty  to  go  to  her," 
whispered  the  wife  to  herself.  ''  I  will  go  to 
Little  Staunton  and  nurse  her  for  a  few  days, 
and  when  she  is  better  she  must  come  to  Lon 
don  and  live  with  me.  Jasper  won't  like  it — I 
know  he  won't  like  it,  but  he  has  really  nothing 
to  complain  of,  for  I  told  him  from  the  very  first 
what  Judy  was  to  me.  Yes,  I  must  go,  but  I 
wish — I  do  wish  that  the  train  for  Little  Staun 
ton  left  Waterloo  at  six  instead  of  seven.  I 
should  be  well  on  my  journey  before  Jasper  came 
back.  Oh,  Jasper,  my  darling,  why  do  I  say 
words  of  this  sort,  as  if  I  were— as  if  I  could  be 
— afraid  of  you !  " 

Hilda  dipped  her  pen  into  the  ink  and  wrote 
the  first  words  of  her  letter. 


HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.  131 

"  MY  DEAREST  HUSBAND: 

"  When  you  read  this  you  will  be  surprised — " 

A  rather  crooked  dash  of  her  pen  finished  this 
sentence — she  was  startled  by  a  quick  double 
knock  at  the  front  door.  A  moment  later 
Susan,  the  neat  maidservant,  brought  in  a  tele 
gram  on  a  salver. 

"  The  boy  is  waiting  to  know  if  there  is  any 
answer,"  she  said. 

Hilda  tore  open  the  yellow  envelope;  her  eyes 
rested  on  the  following  words: 

"  Rivers  will  dine  with  us.  Have  everything 
nice,  and  expect  me  home  at  6.30. 

"  JASPER." 

Mrs.  Quentyns'  first  sensation  was  one  of  re 
lief. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  she  exclaimed,  looking  up  at 
the  servant,  who  was  startled  at  her  mistress's 
pale  cheeks.  "  I  thought  my  little  sister,  Miss 
Judy,  was  worse,  but  the  telegram  is  from  your 
master,  Susan.  Tell  the  boy  there  is  no  answer, 
and  send  cook  to  me  without  a  moment's  delay." 

Susan  left  the  room,  and  Hilda  slipped  the 
telegram  into  her  pocket.  She  still  felt  only  a 
sense  of  relief,  and  the  first  faint  qualms  as  to 


132  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

what  Jasper  would  think  of  her  sudden  departure 
had  not  begun  to  visit  her.  A  knock  was  heard 
at  the  drawing-room  door. 

"  Come  in,  come  in,"  said  the  young  mistress. 
"  Oh,  cook,"  exclaimed  Hilda,  "  I  have  just  had 
a  telegram  from  your  master.  He  is  bringing 
a  gentleman  home  to  dine.  A  rather  particu 
lar  gentleman,  and  we  want  a  specially  nice  din 
ner.  I — I  forget  what  I  ordered  this  morning." 

The  fat  cook  bestowed  a  pitying  glance  upon 
Hilda. 

"  The  boiled  chicken  was  to  be  fricasseed, 
mum,"  she  said,  "  and  you  ordered  me  to  open 
one  of  the  tins  of  oxtail  soup;  there  were  to  be 
apple  fritters  afterward,  and  a  cheese  savory — 
that  is  all." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Hilda,  putting  her  hand  to 
her  head,  "  that  dinner  would  have  done  very 
well  for  Mr.  Quentyns  and  me,  but  we  must 
make  some  alterations  now.  You  had  better 
run  round  to  the  fishmonger's,  cook,  and  go  to 
the  butcher's,  and  order " 

Hilda  rushed  to  her  davenport,  scribbled  some 
hasty  directions  on  a  piece  of  paper,  and  handed 
them  to  the  servant. 

"  You  must  go  this  moment,"  she  said,  "  it  is 
six  o'clock  now;  and  please  call  at  the  green 
grocer's  on  your  way  back,  and  get  a  pound  of 


HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.  133 

bananas  and  some  Tangerine  oranges.  I  will 
see  that  the  wine  is  all  right,  and  speak  to  Susan 
about  the  table  while  you  are  out.  Run,  cook, 
run,  at  once — things  must  look  their  very  best, 
and  be  served  in  the  best  possible  manner  for 
dinner  to-night." 

The  cook  muttered  something  unintelligible, 
and  by  no  means  too  well  pleased  with  her 
errand,  departed. 

Hilda  called  Susan,  and  going  into  the  dining 
room  helped  her  to  decorate  the  table;  then  after 
impressing  upon  the  neat  little  parlor-maid  the 
necessity  of  doing  what  she  could  to  help  cook 
in  this  sudden  emergency,  she  ran  upstairs  to 
put  on  her  bonnet  and  jacket,  for  the  time  had 
almost  arrived  when  she  must  start  on  her  jour 
ney.  She  had  just  come  downstairs  when  the 
click  of  the  latch-key  was  heard,  and  Jasper,  in 
excellent  spirits,  entered  the  house. 

''  Well,  my  love,"  he  said,  going  up  to  his  wife 
and  kissing  her;  "  oh,  you  have  been  out! — did 
you  get  my  telegram?  I  told  Rivers  we  should 
not  dine  until  half-past  seven,  in  order  to  give 
you  plenty  of  time  to  prepare.  Perhaps  you 
have  been  ordering  some  things  for  dinner, 
Hilda;  that  is  right,  and  just  what  I  should  have 
expected  of  you.  I  am  particularly  anxious  that 
Rivers  should  see  that  I  have  got  the  sweetest. 


134  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

prettiest,  and  best  little  wife  and  housekeeper  in 
the  world." 

For  some  reason  which  she  could  not  explain, 
even  to  herself,  Hilda  felt  her  tongue  tied.  She 
returned  her  husband's  kiss,  and  when  he  en 
tered  the  tiny  dining  room  she  followed  him. 

"  Very  nice,  very  nice/'  he  exclaimed,  looking 
with  approval  at  the  dinner-table,  which  was 
charmingly  decorated  with  pink  Liberty  silk  and 
white  flowers.  "  But  what  is  this?  "  he  added 
suddenly,  "  there  are  only  two  places  laid.  One 
for  you  and  one  for  me.  We  must  ring  for 
Susan  at  once — I  think  Rivers  would  rather  sit 
at  the  side,  away  from  the  fire." 

"  I — Jasper,  I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

"  What  is  it?  how  pale  you  are,  darling!  " 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  repeated 
Hilda;  ''  I — I  am  not  going  to  dine  with  you 
to-night." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  girl — are  you 
ill?  what  can  be  the  matter?" 

"  I  am  not  ill,  but  Judy  is — I  am  going  down 
to  Little  Staunton.  I  have  telegraphed  to  them 
to  expect  me  by  the  train  due  at  9.40,  and  it  is 
time  for  me  to  go.  Is  that  you,  Susan?  Please 
would  you  order  a  hansom  at  once?  " 

Susan  instantly  left  the  room,  closing  the 
door  behind  her, 


MC'SBAXD   AXD    WIFE.  135 

For  nearly  half  a  minute  Otientyns  was  silent, 
a  great  wave  of  color  had  rushed  over  his  face, 
and  it  was  with  difficulty  he  could  keep  back 
some  annoyed  and  some  sarcastic  words.  He 
was  a  man  \vho  prided  himself  on  having  great 
sell-control,  and  before  he  uttered  his  first  sen 
tence  he  felt  that  he  had  recovered  it. 

''  You're  trembling,  dear,"  he  said  gently, 
"  and  you — you  absolutely  look  as  if  you  were 
afraid  of  me.  Come  into  the  drawing  room, 
love,  and  tell  me  what  is  wrong  with  Judy.  My 
bt'tc  noire,  Judy!  what  has  been  her  last  trans 
gression?  " 

"  Jasper,  don't  don't,"  said  Hilda,  in  a  voice 
of  pain.  "  Judy  is  really  ill  this  time — she 
fainted  in  church  on  Sunday;  she  is  in  bed  now, 
and  the  doctor  says  she  is  very  weak." 

"  I  suppose  so,  or  she  would  not  have  fainted. 
I  used  constantly  to  faint  when  I  was  a  child — 
the  slightest  thing  sent  me  off.  I  was  not  kept 
in  bed  afterward,  for  children  were  not  cockered 
up  and  fussed  over  when  I  was  young.  My 
faint  was  generally  traced  to  over-eating.  If 
you  must  go  down  to  see  Judy,  I  don't  wish  to 
prevent  you,  Hilda,  but  why  go  to-night?  " 

"  Oh,  Jasper,  I  must — I  must  run  away  this 
instant  too,  for  I  hear  the  cab — I  telegraphed  to 
say  I  would  go." 


136  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Jasper  put  on  a  new  stubborn  look  which 
Hilda  had  never  seen  before. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  coerce  you,"  he  said,  in  a 
cold  voice,  "  you're  perfectly  free  to  act  as  you 
think  right  in  the  matter.  I  can  go  down  with 
you  by  an  early  train  in  the  morning,  or  you  can 
go  by  yourself  now,  and  put  me  to  extreme  in 
convenience.  You're  at  liberty  to  choose." 

"  Don't  speak  like  that,  Jasper,  you  pain  me 
so  dreadfully." 

"  I  fail  to  see  how  I  am  paining  you,  I  am  giv 
ing  you  a  free  choice.  You  can  be  with  Judy 
before  noon  to-morrow,  or  you  can  go  imme 
diately." 

"  I  sent  a  telegram  to  her  to  expect  me;  it  is 
so  bad  for  sick  children  to  be  kept  waiting." 

"  So  it  seems.  Yes,  Susan,  tell  the  cab  to 
wait." 

Susan  left  the  room,  and  heavy  tears  gathered 
in  Hilda's  eyes. 

"  Can  I  send  another  telegram?  "  she  asked 
weakly. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  can.  the  telegraph  office 
will  be  closed  at  Little  Staunton.  Never  mind, 
Hilda,  you  had  better  go;  I  am  disappointed,  an 
noyed,  of  course,  but  what  of  that?  What  is  a 
husband  to  a  sick  sister?  Go,  my  dear,  or  you 
will  miss  your  train!  " 


HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.  137 

"No,  I  won't  go,"  said  Hilda;  "you  have 
made  it  impossible  for  me  to  go.  I'll  stay  and 
entertain  your  guest,  and  Judy  will  suffer.  Yes; 
don't  kiss  me  just  now,  Jasper;  I  think  you  are 
cruel,  but  I'll  stay." 

Hilda  went  over  to  the  bell  and  rang  it. 

Susan  answered  the  summons. 

"  Give  the  cabman  this  shilling,"  said  Mrs. 
Ouentyns,  "and  tell  him  that  he  is  not  required." 

"  You  have  done  quite  right,  my  love,"  said 
Quentyns,  "  and  when  you  have  got  over  your 
first  little  feeling  of  annoyance  you  will  see  the 
matter  in  the  same  light  that  I  do.  I'll  tele 
graph  to  Little  Staunton  early  in  the  morning 
to  tell  them  to  expect  us  by  the  11.35  train.  Of 
course  Judy  would  have  been  asleep  hours  be 
fore  you  reached  her  to-night,  so  it  does  not 
really  matter  in  the  least.  Now7  come  upstairs 
and  put  ©n  your  very  prettiest  dress,  that  soft 
pink  chiffon,  in  which  you  look  as  like  a  rose 
bud  as  a  living  woman  can.  I  have  capital  news 
for  you,  Hilda,  my  love;  Rivers  certainly  is  a 
brick;  he  has  got  me  to  act  as  counsel  in — 

Quentyns  talked  on  in  his  satisfied,  joyous 
tones.  He  had  won  the  victory,  and  could 
afford  to  be  very  gracious  and  generous.  Hilda 
felt  as  if  a  band  of  iron  had  closed  round  her 
heart.  She  was  too  gentle  and  sweet  in  her 


138  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

nature  to  be  long  angry  with  her  husband.  Her 
face  was  a  little  paler  than  usual,  however,  and 
her  eyes  had  a  weary  look  in  them. 

Rivers,  who  was  a  very  keen  observer  of  hu 
man  nature,  noticed  the  silent  depression  which 
hung  over  her,  but  Hilda's  husband  failed  to 
observe  it. 

"  I  can  easily  manage  her,"  he  muttered  to 
himself;  "  it  would  have  been  beyond  all  reason 
to  have  had  her  absent  from  our  first  little  din 
ner  just  because  a  child  had  fainted.  Pshaw! — 
I  can  see  that  Hilda  is  going  to  be  painfully 
fanciful;  it  all  comes  from  having  lived  so  long 
in  the  wilds  of  the  country.  Well,  I'll  take  her 
down  to  Little  Staunton  to-morrow,  and  be 
specially  good  to  her,  but  she  must  get  over 
these  absurdities  about  Judy,  or  life  will  not  be 
worth  living." 

The  dinner  was  a  success,  and  Hilda  looked 
lovely.  A  certain  dreamy  and  far-away  expres 
sion  in  her  eyes  added  the  final  touch  to  her 
beauty.  When  the  men  sat  together  over  their 
wine,  Rivers  spoke  of  her  in  tones  of  rapture. 

"  You're  the  luckiest  fellow  in  Christendom, 
Jasper,"  he  said;  and  Jasper  Quentyns,  who 
looked  up  to  Tom  Rivers  as  the  first  of  men,  felt 
almost  unduly  elated. 

"  The  lines  had  fallen  unto  him  in  pleasant 


HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.  139 

places,"  so  he  muttered,  and  he  forgot  all  about 
a  sick  and  troublesome  child,  who  at  this  very 
instant  was  counting  the  moments  as  they  flew 
by,  in  her  tired  and  weary  eagerness  to  clasp  her 
arms  round  Hilda's  neck.  Hilda,  too,  in  the 
drawing  room,  was  shedding  silent  tears,  but 
what  did  that  matter?  for  Jasper  knew  nothing 
about  them. 

Jasper  and  Hilda  were  both  musical,  and  Tom 
Rivers  liked  nothing  better  than  to  listen  to  their 
voices  as  they  sang  duet  after  duet  together. 
The  songs  they  sung  were  full  of  noble  senti 
ment.  Their  voices  mingled  until  they  almost 
sounded  like  one  rich  and  perfect  note,  as  they 
sang  of  love  which  is  undying  and  self-sacrifice 
which  is  ennobling.  Quentyns  felt  a  glow  of 
elation  filling  his  breast  as  his  eyes  rested  on  his 
lovely  wife,  and  the  tormentings  of  Hilda's  con 
science  were  soothed,  and  she  too  partly  forgot 
Judy. 

Breakfast  was  served  at  an  early  hour  next 
morning  at  Philippa  Terrace,  and  Quentyns  and 
his  wife  started  for  Little  Staunton  in  time  to 
catch  the  early  train. 

They  arrived  at  the  small  way-side  station  not 
more  than  twenty  minutes  beyond  the  appointed 
time,  and  were  met  by  Miss  Mills,  who  was  driv 
ing  the  village  pony  cart  herself. 


A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

The  governess  addressed  Hilda  in  a  calm 
voice,  but  her  inward  excitement  was  very  mani 
fest.  Jasper  had  talked  cheerfully  all  the  way 
down  to  Little  Staunton,  but  Hilda  had  been 
almost  silent.  She  felt  oppressed — she  dreaded 
she  knew  not  what.  Now,  when  she  looked 
into  Miss  Mills's  face,  she  felt  her  own  turn  pale. 

"  No,  don't  speak,"  she  said,  in  a  hoarse  whis 
per.  "  I  know  you  have  bad  news,  but  don't  tell 
me  now,  not  until  we  get  home." 

"  Get  in,"  said  Miss  Mills,  "  I  won't  be  long 
driving  you  to  the  Rectory.  It  is  rather  impor 
tant  for  you  to  be  there,  and  as  the  trap  only 
holds  two,  perhaps  Mr.  Quentyns  won't  mind 
walking." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Jasper,  in  his  pleasant,  calm 
voice.  "  Can  you  make  room  for  our  portman 
teau  at  your  feet,  Miss  Mills?  Ah,  yes,  that  will 
do  nicely.  By  the  way,  how  are  you  all?  has 
Judy  quite  recovered  from  her  faint?  " 

When  Quentyns  asked  this  question  Miss 
Mills  bent  suddenly  forward  under  the  pretense 
of  trying  to  arrange  the  portmanteau. 

"  We  won't  be  any  time  getting  to  the  Rec 
tory,"  she  said,  turning  to  Hilda;  she  touched 
the  pony  with  her  whip  as  she  spoke  and  they 
.started  forward. 

"  It  was  such  a  pity  you  didn't  come  last 


HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.  14* 

night,"  said  the  governess,  as  they  entered  the 
Rectory  gates. 

"  I — I  could  not  help  it,"  murmured  poor 
Hilda.  With  one  hand  she  was  tightly  grasping 
the  edge  of  the  little  basket-carriage. 

"  Stop,  there  is  father,"  she  exclaimed  sud 
denly.  '"  Let  me  go  to  him.  I — I  can  bear 
him  to  tell  me  if  there  is  anything  wrong." 

In  an  instant  she  reached  the  Rector's  side. 
Her  arms  were  round  his  neck,  her  head  on  his 
shoulder,  and  she  was  sobbing  her  heart  out  on 
his  breast. 

"  My  dearest  Hilda,  my  darling!  "  exclaimed 
her  father.  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this? 
Why  are  you  so  dreadfully  unhappy,  my  child?  " 

"  Tell  me,  father,  I  can  bear  it  from  you.  Is 
she — is  she  dead?  " 

"Is  who  dead?" 

«  JU— Judy." 

"  No;  what  has  put  that  into  your  head?  But 
your  little  sister  is  very  ill,  Hilda.  I  am  not  so 
much  alarmed  about  her  as  your  Aunt  Marjorie 
is,  but  I  confess  her  state  puzzles  me.  I  saw 
Dr.  Harvey  to-day,  and  I  don't  think  he  is  satis 
fied  either.  It  seems  that  for  some  reason  the 
child  was  over-excited  last  night — there  was 
difficulty  in  getting  her  off  to  sleep,  and  she 
cried  in  a  very  distressing  and  painful  way.  I 


142  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

was  obliged  to  sit  with  her  myself.  I  held  hei 
hand,  poor  little  darling,  and  had  a  prayer  with 
her,  and — toward  morning  she  dropped  off  into 
a  sleep/' 

"  And,"  continued  Hilda,  "  she  was  better 
when  she  awoke,  wasn't  she?  Do  say  she  was, 
father.  You  showed  her  Jasper's  telegram  the 
very  instant  she  awoke,  and  of  course  she  got 
much  better  immediately." 

"  My  dear  Hilda,  the  strange  thing  about 
Judy  has  yet  to  be  told;  she  has  not  awakened 
— she  is  still  asleep,  and  this  prolonged  and  un 
natural  sleep  disturbs  Dr.  Harvey  a  good  deal." 

"  I  had  better  go  to  her  at  once,  father.  I 
think  the  doctor  must  be  mistaken  in  thinking 
sleep  bad.  When  Judy  sees  me  sitting  by  her 
bedside  she  will  soon  cheer  up  and  get  like  her 
old  self.  I'll  run  to  her  now,  father;  I  don't  feel 
half  so  much  alarmed  since  you  tell  me  that  she 
is  only  asleep." 

The  Rector  gave  vent  to  a  troubled  sigh; 
Hilda  put  wings  to  her  feet,  and  with  the  light 
ness  and  grace  of  a  bird  sped  toward  the  house. 

"  Hilda,  Hilda!  "  called  her  husband.  He  had 
taken  a  short  cut  across  some  fields,  and  was 
now  entering  the  Rectory  domain.  He  thought 
it  would  be  quite  the  correct  thing  for  his  wife 
to  wait  for  him.  Surely  she  would  like  to  enter 


HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.  143 

her  family  circle  with  him  by  her  side.  "  Hilda, 
stop!"  he  cried,  and  he  hurried  his  own  foot 
steps. 

But  if  Hilda  heard  she  did  not  heed.  She 
rushed  on,  and  soon  disappeared  from  view  in 
side  the  deep  portico  of  the  old  house. 

Two  or  three  moments  later  she  was  sitting1 
without  her  hat  and  jacket,  and  with  a  pair  of 
noiseless  house-slippers  on  her  feet,  by  Judy's 
bedside. 

All  the  preparations  which  had  been  made 
with  such  care  and  pains  by  Babs  the  night  be 
fore  were  still  making  the  nursery  look  pretty. 
The  little  china  animals  sat  in  many  funny 
groups  on  the  mantelpiece.  The  white  and  blue 
violets  lay  in  a  large  bowl  on  a  table  by  Judy's 
side.  One  of  the  little  sleeper's  hands  was 
thrown  outside  the  counterpane.  Hilda  touched 
it,  and  found  that  it  burned  with  a  queer,  uncom 
fortable  dry  heat. 

"  But  how  quietly  she  is  sleeping,"  said  Mrs. 
Quentyns,  looking  up  with  tears  in  her  eyes  at 
Aunt  Marjorie;  "why  are  you  so  solemn  and 
sad? — surely  this  sleep  must  be  good  for  her." 

"  My  dear,  Dr.  Harvey  calls  Judy's  state  more 
stupor  than  sleep.  He  says  the  most  extra 
ordinary  things  about  the  child  .  .  .  that  she 
has  been  over-excited  and  subjected  to  a  severe 


144  A     YOUXG  MUTIXELR. 

mental  strain,  and  he  fears  mischief  to  the  brain. 
But  surely  he  must  be  wrong,  for  nothing-  could 
exceed  the  quiet  of  our  life  at  the  Rectory  since 
the  money  has  gone  and  you  have  left  us,  and  no 
one  could  have  been  less  excited  in  her  ways 
than  Judy  has  been'  since  your  marriage.  I 
can't  make  out  what  Dr.  Harvey  means." 

"  I  think  I  partly  understand,"  said  Hilda; 
her  voice  had  a  choking  sound.  "  Don't  talk 
so  loud,  Aunt  Marjorie,"  she  said  impatiently; 
"  you  will  wake  her — you  will  disturb  her." 

"  But  that  is  what  we  wish,"  interrupted  the 
old  lady.  "  The  doctor  says  we  must  do  every 
thing  in  our  power  to  rouse  her.  Ah,  and  here 
he  comes;  he  will  speak  for  himself." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Ouentyns,"  said 
Dr.  Harvey.  "  Your  not  coming  last  night 
when  the  child  expected  you  was  a  grave  mis 
take,  but  better  late  than  never." 

He  stopped  speaking  then,  and  bent  over  the 
little  sleeper. 

"  Draw  up  the  blind,"  he  said  to  Aunt  Mar 
jorie,  "  let  us  have  all  the  light  we  can.  Now 
don't  be  frightened,  Mrs.  Ouentyns — I  am  not 
going  to  hurt  the  child,  but  I  must  examine  her 
eyes." 

Hilda  felt  as  if  she  could  scarcely  restrain  a 
stifled  scream  as  the  doctor  lifted  first  one  lid 


HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.  145 

and  then  the  other,  and  looked  into  the  dark 
depths  of  the  sweet  eyes. 

"  The  child  has  got  a  shock,"  he  said  then. 
"  I  feared  it  when  I  called  early  this  morning. 
I  don't  say  for  a  moment  that  she  will  not  get 
better,  but  her  state  is  very  precarious.  I 
should  like  you  to  nurse  her  altogether,  Mrs. 
Quentyns;  much  depends  on  her  seeing  you  by 
her  side  when  she  wakes." 

"  I  shall  never  leave  her  again,"  said  Hilda,  in 
a  stifled  tone. 

The  doctor's  practiced  ear  caught  the  sup 
pressed  hysteria  in  her  voice. 

"  Come,  come,"  he  said  cheerily,  "  you  have 
nothing  to  blame  yourself  for.  The  little  one 
has  evidently  felt  your  absence  in  a  remarkable 
manner." 

"  Really,  doctor,  you  are  quite  mistaken,"  be 
gan  Aunt  Marjorie.  "  What  I  principally  no 
ticed  about  Judy  was  her  great  quietness  and 
docility  since  Hilda  left.  She  scarcely  spoke  of 
her  sister,  and  seemed  content  to  sit  by  my  side 
and  read  fairy  stories.  She  used  to  be  such  a 
very  excitable,  troublesome  sort  of  child.  If 
you  ask  me  frankly,  I  think  Hilda's  absence  did 
her  good." 

The  doctor  looked  from  the  old  lady  to  the 
young. 


146  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  I  must  adhere  to  my  first  opinion,"  he  said. 
'  The  child  has  missed  her  sister.  Now  that  you 
have  come,  Mrs.  Quentyns,  we  will  hope  for  the 
best." 

He  went  out  of  the  room  as  he  spoke,  and 
Aunt  Marjorie  followed  him. 

Hilda  dropped  on  her  knees  by  Judy's  cot. 

"  Oh,  my  God,  forgive  me,"  she  cried,  in  a 
broken  anguished  prayer.  "  I  did  wrong  to 
leave  my  little  Judy.  Oh,  God,  only  spare  her 
life,  and  I  will  vow  to  you  that  whatever  happens 
she  shall  never  leave  me  in  the  time  to  come. 
Whatever  happens,"  repeated  Hilda,  in  a  chok 
ing  voice  of  great  agony.  Then  she  rose  and 
took  her  place  beside  the  child's  bed. 

A  couple  of  hours  passed  by.  The  door  was 
softly  opened,  and  Quentyns  stole  into  the  room. 
He  had  been  very  much  shocked  by  the  doctor's 
account  of  the  child,  and  his  face  and  tone  ex 
pressed  real  sympathy  as  he  came  up  to  Hilda. 

"  Poor  little  Judy!  "  he  said,  bending  over  her. 
"  "What  a  queer  excitable  little  mite  it  is." 

Hilda  beat  her  foot  impatiently. 

"  Well,  my  darling."  continued  Quentyns, 
not  noticing  his  wife's  suppressed  agitation, 
"  she  will  soon  be  all  right  now  you  have  come. 
Lunch  is  ready,  Hilda,  and  you  must  be  weak 


HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.  147 

for  want  of  food.  Come,  dearest,  let  me  take 
you  down  to  the  dining  room." 

"  Oh,  no,  Jasper!  I  can't  leave  Judy;  and 
please,  please  don't  talk  so  loud." 

"  The  doctor  does  not  wish  her  to  be  kept  too 
quiet,  Hilda;  and  surely,  my  dear,  you  are  not 
going  to  starve  yourself!  " 

"  Aunt  Marjorie  will  send  me  something  to 
the  dressing  room;  I  can't  be  away  from  Judy 
even  for  one  minute.  There  is  no  saying  when 
she  will  awake,  and  I  must  be  with  her  when  she 
does." 

Ouentyns  smothered  an  impatient  exclama 
tion.  After  a  pause  he  said  gently: 

''  As  you  please,  dear;  T  will  bring  something 
up  myself  to  the  dressing  room  for  you,"  and  he 
stole  on  tip-toe  out  of  the  room. 

Nothing  could  be  more  patient  than  his  man 
ner,  and  Hilda  reproached  herself  for  the  feeling 
of  irritation  which  his  presence  gave  her. 

There  came  a  sigh  from  the  bed — the  faintest 
of  sounds;  Mrs.  Quentyns  turned  her  head 
quickly,  and  saw  to  her  rapture  that  Judy's  big 
greeny-gray  eyes  were  wide  open  and  fixed  ear 
nestly  on  her  face.  There  was  no  surprise  in  the 
pretty  eyes,  nor  any  additional  color  in  the  pale 
little  face. 


148  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  Hilda,"  said  Judy,  "  I  thought  it  was  only  a 
bad  dream — you  never  went  away,  did  you?  " 

"  I  am  never  going  to  leave  you  again,  Judy,'* 
replied  her  sister;  "  never,  never,  as  long  as  we 
both  live.  I  vow — I  promise — nothing  shall 
part  us,  nothing  except  death." 

Hilda  flung  herself  on  her  knees  by  the  child's 
bed,  and  burst  into  hysterical  sobs. 


CHAPTER   XII. 
HILDA'S   ENGAGEMENT   RING. 

My  heart  is  heavy  for  scorn, 
Mine  eyes  with  impatient  tears, 
But  heaven  looks  blue  through  the  cherry-blooms, 
And  preaches  away  my  fears. 

— EMILY  PFEIFFER. 

Contrary  to  the  doctor's  fears,  and  in  accord 
ance  with  Hilda's  hopes,  Judy  grew  better.  A 
weight  had  been  lifted  from  her  heart — her 
starved  affections  were  nourished  and  soothed 
once  more.  Hilda  scarcely  ever  left  her  room, 
and  Hilda's  presence  was  perpetual  sunshine  to 
the  child. 

No  one  could  possibly  have  behaved  better 
than  Quentyns  did  during  this  trying  time.  A 
certain  feeling  of  compunction  had  visited  him 
when  he  discovered  how  real  Judy's  illness  \vas. 
He  was  assailed  by  a  momentary  pricking  of  his 
conscience,  but  as  the  little  girl  quickly  grew 
better,  and  was  soon  pronounced  by  the  doctor 
to  be  quite  out  of  danger,  it  was  but  natural  that 
an  active  man  of  the  world  like  Quentyns  should 
wish  to  return  to  town,  should  find  the  quiet 

149 


15°  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Rectory  simply  unendurable,  and  also  that  he 
should  wish  to  take  his  young  wife  with  him. 

The  Quentyns  arrived  at  Staunton  Rectory  on 
a  certain  Wednesday,  and  on  the  following  Sun 
day  evening  Quentyns  thought  the  time  had 
arrived  for  him  to  speak  to  Hilda  about  their 
return  to  town.  He  had  not  seen  much  of  her 
during  the  days  which  had  intervened,  and  he 
was  obliged  now  to  send  Babs  with  a  message  to 
Judy's  room  to  ask  his  wife  to  come  to  him. 

Hilda  was  reading  aloud  to  Judy  when  Babs 
entered  the  room,  and  said  in  her  important, 
calm  way: 

"  Jasper  wants  you,  Hilda,  and  you  are  to  go 
to  him  this  minute." 

Hilda  could  read  beautifully,  and  Judy  had 
lain  in  a  dream  of  rapture,  listening  to  the  be 
loved  voice  as  it  told  the  old  story  of  Christian 
and  his  pilgrimage.  Now  the  wistful,  distressed 
look  crept  back  into  her  face. 

"  Never  mind,  dear,"  said  Hilda,  bending  for 
ward  and  kissing  the  child.  "  I  shall  not  be 
long  away." 

Quentyns  was  waiting  for  his  wife  in  the  large 
conservatory  which  opened  into  the  drawing 
room.  It  was  nearly  empty  of  flowrers  and  plants 
now,  but  was  still  a  pleasant  place  to  lounge 
about  in. 


HILDA'S  ENGAGEMENT  RING.  151 

!i  Well,  my  love,"  he  said  in  his  pleasant  tone. 
"  Why,  how  pale  you  look,  Hilda.  I  am  not 
going  to  scold  you,  darling — oh,  no,  not  for  the 
world;  but  I  haven't  got  too  much  of  your  so 
ciety  during  these  last  few  days.  I  don't  blame 
you,  and  I  am  not  jealous;  but  if  you  could  spare 
me  half  an  hour  now,  there  are  one  or  two  things 
I  want  to  talk  over  with  you." 

"  Of  course  I  can  spare  you  half  an  hour, 
Jasper,  or  an  hour  for  that  matter,  if  you  want 
it,"  replied  Hilda  cheerfully.  "  Judy  is  much, 
much  better  to-night,  and  I  am  feeling  quite 
happy  about  her." 

Hilda  slipped  her  hand  through  her  husband's 
arm  as  she  spoke;  he  gave  the  little  hand  an 
affectionate  squeeze  and  drew  his  wife  close  to 
his  side. 

"  I  am  glad  Judy  is  better,"  he  said.  "  What  I 
have  to  propose  will  be  quite  convenient  then, 
Hilda.  I  want  to  go  back  to  town  by  the  first 
train  in  the  morning.  I  have  heard  from  Rivers, 
and—  What  is  it,  my  love?  You  really  do 
look  very  pale.  You  are  overdoing  yourself, 
and  I  cannot  allow  it.  Now  that  Judy  is  better 
you  must  rest.  I  shall  get  Dr.  Pettifer  to  look 
you  up  and  give  you  a  tonic  when  we  get  back 
to  town." 

"  Stop,  Jasper,"  said  Hilda  suddenly.     "  I  am 


152  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

not  tired  nor  worn  out  in  any  way.  I  look  pale 
now  because  my  heart  beats — because —  -  Jas 
per,  I  cannot  go  to  town  with  you  to-morrow. 
I  know  you  must  go;  of  course,  I  quite  under 
stand  that;  but  I  am  not  going — not  until  Judy 
is  well  enough  to  be  moved." 

Quentyns  did  not  reply  for  several  seconds, 
then  he  said  in  a  gentle  tone,  which  did  not  be 
tray  an  atom  of  his  true  feeling: 

"  I  half  expected  you  to  say  something  of  this 
sort,  Hilda;  I  cannot  pretend  that  I  am  not 
sorry.  The  fine  weather  is  coming  on ;  the  Lon 
don  season  will  soon  be  at  its  height.  I  do  not 
mean  for  a  moment  to  imply  that  we  can  avail 
ourselves  of  what  is  termed  a  season  in  town,  but 
for  a  poor  and  struggling  man  it  is  essential  that 
he  should  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  introduce 
himself  to  those  persons  who  can  and  will  help 
him.  The  influential  sort  of  people  who  can 
materially  assist  me  in  my  career  are  now  in 
London,  Hilda.  You,  my  darling,  are  an  ex 
cuse  for  many  valuable  introductions.  You  see, 
therefore,  that  not  alone  from  an  affectionate 
point  of  view  you  ought  now  to  be  with  me. 
But,"  continued  Jasper,  looking  straight  ahead 
of  him,  and  fixing  his  fine,  intelligent  eyes  on  the 
distant  landscape,  "  I  waive  all  that.  I  under 
stand  that  you  do  not  wish  to  leave  Judy  until 


HILDA'S  ENGAGEMENT  RING.  153 

she  is  fit  to  be  moved  to  the  seaside.  If  she 
maintains  the  progress  she  is  now  making,  Dr. 
Harvey  will  probably  allow  Aunt  Marjorie  to 
take  her  away  at  the  end  of  the  week.  I  shall 
have  you  home  on  Saturday  at  the  latest, 
Hilda." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hilda.  "  I  hope  so,  but — but, 
Jasper,  you  still  fail  to  understand  me.  When 
Judy  goes  away,  she  is  not  going  to  the  seaside 
— she  is  coming  with  me  to  London — to  Phi- 
lippa  Terrace.  It  is  a  promise,  and  I — I  won't 
— I  can't  go  back  from  it.  I  stand  or  fall  by  my 
promise,  Jasper — I  wish  to  say  so  now  once  for 
all." 

"You  stand  or  fall  by  your  promise!  "re 
peated  Quentyns.  "  What  an  extraordinary 
remark.  One  would  suppose,  my  darling,  that 
I  was  an  ogre  or  the  worst  soft  of  tyrant.  I 
always  told  you  that  Judy  should  come  to  stay 
with  us  for  a  few  weeks  when  we  had  a  room  to 
receive  her  in.  If  matters  progress  as  satisfac 
torily  as  I  hope,  we  shall  have  a  snug,  prettily 
furnished,  little  spare  room  by  the  end  of  the 
present  season.  I  promise  you,  Hilda,  that 
Judy  shall  be  its  first  tenant." 

Hilda  laid  her  hand  with  a  sort  of  trembling, 
nervous  impatience,  on  her  husband's  arm. 

"  I  have  made  a  mistake — I  have  been  a  cow- 


154  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER, 

ard,"  she  said.  "  Even  now,  Jasper,  you  don't 
a  bit  understand  me.  Long  ago,  when  mother 
died,  she  left  Judy  in  my  charge.  I  ought  never 
to  have  married  and  left  her.  Judy  is  not  an 
ordinary  child,  and  she  suffered.  When  I  went 
away  her  heart  was  starved.  She  could  not  live 
with  a  starved  heart.  In  my  absence,  my  little 
Judy  nearly  died.  She  is  better  now — she  is 
recovering  because  I  am  \vith  her.  I  am  never 
going  to  leave  her  again  while  she  lives." 

"  Hilda,  what  nonsense  you  talk,"  said  Quen- 
tyns,  with  temper  in  his  tone.  "  If  Judy  lives  to 
grow  up,  she  will  marry  like  other  girls — and  will 
leave  you  of  her  own  accord." 

"  If  she  does,"  replied  Hilda,  "  that  alters  the 
case,  but  until  she  leaves  me  by  her  own  wish  or 
marries,  she  is  in  my  charge.  I  will  not  be 
parted  from  her,  Jasper.  I  shall  not  return  to 
Philippa  Terrace  until  I  can  bring  her  with  me." 

"  Is  that  really  your  final  decision? "  said 
Quentyns — he  turned  round  now  and  looked  at 
his  wife;  his  face  was  very  cold,  its  expression 
carefully  veiled.  He  was  intensely  anxious  not 
to  show  even  a  trace  of  ill-temper.  His  words 
were  guarded.  "  Is  that  your  final  decision, 
Hilda?  "  he  said,  and  there  was  a  fine  withering 
sort  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice.  "  Do  you  mean 
seriously  to  desert  the  husband  you  married  not 


HILDA'S  ENGAGEMENT  KING.  155 

three  months  ago  for  the  sake  of  a  child's  whim? 
Is  that  the  way  you  keep  your  marriage  vow?  '* 

"  No,  no,  Jasper!  I  want  to  be  true  to  you 
both.  I  made  two  vows,  and  I  want  to  keep 
them  both.  Help  me,  Jasper;  I  am  not  a  bit  a 
strong-minded  girl,  I  am  just  very  loving.  My 
heart  is  full  of  love  to  you  and  to  Judy.  Help- 
me  to  do  this — help  me  to  love  you  both,  to 
serve  you  both.  Go  back  to  town  to-morrow 
and  furnish  the  spare  room,  and  I  will  bring  Judy 
back  with  me  on  Friday  or  Saturday." 

"  I  said  I  should  not  run  in  debt.  I  have  no 
more  money  to  spend  on  furniture  at  present. 
You  don't  really  care  for  me,  Hilda,  or  you 
would  never  speak  as  you  do.  But,  once  for  all, 
I  will  not  be  drawn  into  a  path  which  simply 
means  ruin  for  the  sake  of  any  woman,  and  for 
the  ridiculous  fancies  of  any  child.  I  will  buy 
no  furniture  until  I  can  pay  for  it.  That  ends 
the  matter,  my  dear.  If  you  are  determined  to 
stay  at  the  Rectory  for  the  summer,  they  will 
all,  I  am  sure,  be  charmed  to  have  you,  and  I 
will  try  and  run  down  as  often  as  I  can.  I  need 
not  say  that  I  think  you  are  making  a  most 
grave  mistake,  but  a  willful  woman  must  e'en 
have  her  way,  I  suppose.  Ah,  and  here  comes 
the  Rector,  he  has  just  returned  from  evening 
service." 


156  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Quentyns  went  toward  the  door  of  the  con 
servatory,  which  he  flung  open.  Mr.  Merton 
was  just  entering  his  drawing  room. 

"  One  moment,  Jasper — one  moment,"  said 
Hilda;  she  rushed  after  her  husband,  her  face 
was  like  death,  her  eyes  were  blazing  with  pas 
sion. 

"  Your  cruel  words  make  anything  possible," 
she  said.  "  I  made  two  vows  before  God,  and  I 
will  keep  them  both.  There,  this  was  costly,  I 
presume.  You  spent  money  on  it — sell  it  again, 
and  buy  the  furniture  that  you  will  not  go  in 
debt  for." 

She  thrust  her  engagement  ring  into  Quen 
tyns'  hand  and  rushed  away. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

JUDY'S   ROOM. 

An  ear  that  waits  to  catch 
A  hand  upon  the  latch. 

— DORA  GREENWELL. 

"  Here  is  a  letter  from  Jasper,  Hilda  darling," 
said  Aunt  Marjorie,  coming  into  Judy's  bed 
room  two  or  three  days  after  the  events  men 
tioned  in  the  last  chapter.  "  I  know  the  hand 
writing,  dear.  How  strong  and  manly  it  looks. 
I  do  love  a  manly  hand,  don't  you?  " 

Hilda  did  not  reply.  She  rose  from  her  seat 
by  Judy's  side,  and  taking  her  husband's  letter, 
walked  to  the  window,  and,  standing  with  her 
back  to  the  light,  opened  it  eagerly.  Her  face 
was  a  little  pale  and  worn,  and  her  eyes  had  tired 
lines  under  them.  No  one  had  noticed  any 
change  in  her,  however.  Judy  was  fast  recover 
ing — each  day  her  spirits  rose,  her  appetite  im 
proved,  her  strength  grew  greater.  She  was  to 
be  taken  into  Hilda's  old  boudoir  to-day,  and 
Babs  was  importantly  moving  the  beloved  china 

157 


158  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

animals,  arranging  flowers,  and  getting  the  room 
ready  for  the  great  event. 

Aunt  Marjorie,  after  her  usual  fashion,  fussed 
over  Judy  while  Hilda  read  her  letter.  It  was 
brief,  but  somehow  it  gave  the  young  wife  unex 
pected  hope  and  pleasure: 

"  MY  DEAREST  WIFE: 

"  Pray  forgive  me  for  not  writing  sooner,  but 
I  have  been  exceedingly  busy  since  I  returned 
to  town,  and  have  dined  each  night  with  Rivers 
at  his  club.  I  send  a  hasty  line  now  to  say  that 
you  can  bring  Judy  back  to  Philippa  Terrace 
whenever  she  is  strong  enough  to  be  moved,  as 
I  have  given  Shoolbred  full  directions  with  re 
gard  to  furnishing  the  spare  room,  and  have  just 
had  a  letter  from  him  to  say  the  goods  will  be 
delivered  to-day. 

"  Pray  don't  tire  yourself  more  than  is  neces 
sary.  And  believe  me, 

'  Your  affectionate  husband, 

"  JASPER  QUENTYNS." 

"  Judy,"  said  Hilda — she  turned  eagerly,  the 
old  lovely  color  mantling  her  cheeks,  and  the 
brightness  of  hope  filling  her  eyes.  "  Isn't 
Jasper  good,  Judy?  I  have  just  heard  from  him 
— he  says  the  furniture  is  coming  in  for  your 
room  to-day.  We  can  go  back  to  town  as  soon 


JUDY'S  ROOM.  159 

as  ever  Dr.  Harvey  thinks  you  strong  enough 
to  be  moved,  my  pet." 

"  Which  won't  be  this  week,"  interrupted 
Aunt  Marjorie.  "  It  would  be  the  sheerest 
madness.  Has  Jasper  proposed  such  a  thing, 
Hilda?  If  so,  I  can  only  say  how  like  a  man. 
In  about  a  fortnight,  this  dear  child  may  be  the 
better  for  change  of  air  ...  I  have  no  doubt 
too  that  Dr.  Harvey  will  be  pleased  to  have  a 
London  opinion  about  her.  There  may  be  a 
weakness  of  the  heart's  action.  I  never  am  easy 
about  people  who  faint  off  suddenly.  Now, 
Judy,  why  do  you  flush  up?  you  know  you 
oughtn't  to  listen  when  Auntie  talks  to  Hilda 
about  you.  Go  on  reading  your  pretty  story 
book,  my  love.  Yes,  Hilda,  I  should  like  the 
child  to  see  a  first-class  physician.  You  know 
your  mother's  heart  was  not  strong.  He  will 
doubtless  order  cod-liver  oil,  but  for  my  part  I 
prefer  cream." 

"  I  know  something  better  than  cream  for 
Judy — don't  I,  my  pet?  "  said  Hilda,  turning  to 
her  little  sister  with  her  bright  smile. 

"  And  so  do  I,"  replied  Judy.  "  Oh,  Hilda, 
to  think  of  living  with  you  in  your  own  little 
house!  Oh,  Hilda,  I'm  too  happy — I  am  so 
happy  that  my  heart  aches.  It  aches  with 
pleasure." 


l6c  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Judy's  thin  arms  were  flung  round  her  sister's 
neck.  Her  lips  pressed  Hilda's  soft  young 
cheek,  her  eyes  looked  into  Hilda's.  It  seemed 
to  them  both  at  that  moment  that  soul  answered 
to  soul. 

"  Now  what  nonsense  this  is,"  said  Aunt  Mar- 
jorie  in  her  fussy  tones.  "  Judy,  I  hope  Hilda 
is  not  going  to  encourage  you  in  silly  senti 
mental  talk  of  that  kind.  You  say  your  heart 
aches  with  pleasure.  Really,  my  dear,  I  have  no 
patience  to  listen  to  you.  I  should  like  to  know 
what  a  child  like  you  knows  about  heart-aches — 
you,  who  have  been  brought  up  in  what  I  may 
call  the  very  lap  of  luxury.  For,  Hilda,  I  have 
made  it  the  object  of  my  life  ever  since  poverty 
came  to  us,  to  prevent  even  the  slightest  shadow 
of  its  wings  touching  the  children.  They  have 
had  their  excellent  governess,  and  their  warm 
schoolroom  and  snug  bedroom.  I  cut  down 
one  of  my  own  fur  cloaks  to  give  them  really 
nice  winter  jackets,  and  I  took  special  care  that 
the  schoolroom  table  should  be  as  liberal  as  ever. 
It  is  impossible,  therefore,  for  me  to  understand 
Judy's  silly  words  about  her  heart  aching." 

Aunt  Marjorie  left  the  room,  and  Judy  still 
softly  rubbed  her  cheek  against  Hilda's. 

"  But  my  heart  did  ache,"  she  said  after  a 
pause — "  it  aches  with  joy  now,  and  it  did  ache 


JUDY'S  ROOM.  i6r 

— oh,  it  kept  crying,  it  felt  starved  without  you, 
Hilda." 

"  I  understand — yes,  I  understand,"  replied 
Hilda. 

"  You  don't  mind  what  Aunt  Marjorie  says 
then?" 

"  Not  about  you,  my  own  little  love." 

"  Hilda,  I  did  really  try  very,  very  hard  not  to 
fret." 

"  The  effort  was  too  much  for  you,  my  Judy,* 
but  never  mind,  the  pain  and  the  parting  are  all 
over  now.  Isn't  it  kind  of  your  new  brother — 
isn't  it  kind  of  dear,  dear  Jasper — to  get  the 
nice  little  room  furnished  and  ready  for  you, 
darling?  " 

"  Yes,  Hilda.  Has  he  gone  in  debt  for  the 
furniture?  You  told  me  long  ago  that  the  room 
would  have  been  furnished  and  that  I  should 
have  come  to  you,  but  there  was  no  money  left, 
and  Jasper  would  not  go  in  debt.  Has  he  really 
gone  in  debt  now,  just  to  please  me?  " 

"  No,  my  love,  no — we  have  managed.  You 
must  not  ask  inquisitive  questions.  All  is  right 
now,  and  we  shall  be  very  happy  together." 

Dr.  Harvey  was  highly  pleased  when  he  heard 
that  his  little  patient  was  going  to  London  with 
her  sister.  He  was  a  man  with  plenty  of  obser 
vation,  and  he  could  read  between  the  lines 


162  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

much  better  than  poor  obtuse  old  Aunt  Mar- 
jorie. 

'  You  are  the  right  physician  for  your  little 
sister,  Mrs.  Quentyns,"  he  said.  "  I  prophesy 
that  Miss  Judy  will  become  perfectly  strong  and 
well  in  a  short  time  under  your  care.  Yes,  there 
will  be  nothing  to  prevent  her  traveling  to  town 
on  Saturday  next,  if  you  really  wish  it.  The 
weather  is  extraordinarily  mild  for  the  time  of 
year,  and  a  change  will  do  Judy  more  good  than 
anything  else." 

Hilda  wrote  a  joyful  letter  to  her  husband 
that  day. 

"  You  are  to  expect  us  both  on  Saturday," 
she  said.  "  Oh,  Jasper,  how  happy  your  letter 
has  made  me.  How  good — how  really  good 
you  are.  Please  forgive  me  if  I  was  a  little  hasty 
with  you  the  other  evening.  I  know  you  will 
never  regret,  darling  husband,  helping  me  to 
keep  both  my  vows — the  vow  I  made  to  you, 
and  the  vow  I  made  mother.  No  one  ever 
had  a  more  loving  wife  than  I  shall  prove  to  you, 
and  no  one  ever  had  a  dearer  little  sister  than 
you  will  find  my  Judy  when  you  really  know 
her." 

"Her  Judy,  indeed!"  murmured  Quentyns, 
when  he  read  his  wife's  letter  at  his  breakfast- 
table  on  the  following  morning.  "  Tiresome 


JUDY'S  ROOM.  163 

little  piece — she'll  never  be  my  Judy,  how 
ever  much  she  may  be  Hilda's.  Well,  I  suppose 
I  must  make  the  best  of  a  bad  job,  but  if  I  had 
known  beforehand  that  that  wretched  senti 
mental  child  was  to  be  tacked  on  to  us,  I'd  have 
thought  twice.  .  .  No,  I  wouldn't  though,  I 
love  Hilda  \vell  enough  to  bear  some  incon 
venience  for  her  sake;  but  if  she  thinks  this  step 
will  really  add  to  our  happiness,  she'll  soon  find 
her  mistake.  Fancy  her  asking  me  to  sell  her 
engagement  ring!  I  can  never  get  over  that. 
Things  can't  be  quite  the  same  again — it's  im 
possible.  Well,  well,  more  than  one  friend  has 
told  me  I'd  wake  from  my  dream  of  bliss  some 
day.  I  have,  with  a  vengeance — it  has  been 
something  of  a  shock  too.  Heigho!  I  am  not 
going  to  look  like  defeat,  anyhow.  Of  course, 
too,  I'll  be  just  the  same  to  Hilda  outwardly. 
Ah.  there's  Susan — I'd  better  speak  to  her  and 
get  her  to  tell  cook.  This  is  Thursday — they'll 
be  here  in  two  days." 

''  Susan,"  as  the  neat  parlor-maid  entered  the 
room,  "  I  have  had  a  letter  from  your  mistress. 
She  is  coming  home  on  Saturday,  and  will  bring 
little  Miss  Merton  with  her.  Have  the  things 
come  from  Shoolbred's  yet?  " 

"  The  furniture,  sir,  for  the  spare  room?  Yes, 
it  arrived  yesterday,  and  the  man  is  coming  to 


1 64  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

lay  down  the  carpet  and  put  up  the  curtains  this 
morning." 

"  Well,  Susan,  you  get  the  room  ready,  and 
have  the  bed  well  aired,  and  tell  me  if  there's 
anything  more  wanted — the  child  has  been  ill, 
and  she'll  require  every  comfort.  Mrs.  Quen- 
tyns  will  wish  the  room  to  look  as  nice  as  pos 
sible.  I  know  nothing  about  these  matters — 
see  to  it,  Susan,  will  you?  " 

"  Yes,  sir;  you  may  depend  on  me  and  cook  to 
do  everything  right " 

"  And  tell  cook  about  your  mistress.  Let  me 
see,  they'll  be  home  between  five  and  six  on 
Saturday  evening.  I  shan't  dine  at  home  to 
night,  and  if  a  telegram  comes  for  me,  I  want 
you  to  wire  to  my  city  address.  This  is  it." 

Quentyns  left  the  house,  and  Susan  and  the 
cook  spent  a  busy  day  in  dusting,  polishing, 
sweeping,  and  cleaning. 

The  little  spare  room  looked  very  sweet  and 
bright  with  the  simple  tasty  furniture  which 
Quentyns  had  chosen.  The  small  bed  was  in 
viting  in  its  white  draperies.  The  furniture, 
painted  in  artistic  greens,  had  a  cool  and  young 
effect.  The  room  looked  like  a  child's  room, 
and  Susan  and  cook  were  in  ecstasies  over  its 
appearance. 

"  Master   'ave  taste   and   no   mistake,"    said 


JUDY'S  ROOM.  165 

cook.  "  But  why  don't  he  come  and  look  for 
'isself  at  all  we  have  done,  Susan?  So  natty  as 
everything  looks,  and  the  furniture  master's 
taste  and  all.  Won't  missis  be  pleased!  But 
why  don't  he  come  and  say  what  he  thinks  of 
how  we  has  put  the  things,  Susan?  " 

''  Never  you  mind,"  said  Susan.  "  Master 
knows  as  the  arranging  of  furniture  is  woman's 
province — there's  no  fussing  in  him,  and  that's 
what  I  likes  him  for." 

Saturday  arrived  in  due  time,  and  the  little 
house  in  Philippa  Terrace  was  in  apple-pie  order. 

As  Quentyns  was  leaving  for  town  that  morn 
ing,  Susan  waylaid  him. 

"  What  hour  shall  I  tell  my  missis  that  we 
may  expect  you  home,  sir?  "  she  asked.  "  Mrs. 
Quentyns  and  the  little  lady  will  be  here  by  six, 
and  the  very  first  thing  my  missis  will  ask  is, 
when  you  are  coming  in." 

"  Say,"  began  Quentyns — he  paused.  "  I'll 
write  a  line,"  he  said;  "  you  can  give  it  to  your 
mistress.  I  shan't  be  in  to  dinner  to-night,  and 
cook  had  better  prepare  tea  for  Mrs.  Quentyns 
and  Miss  Merton,  with  fish  or  chops  or  some 
thing  of  that  sort.  I'll  write  a  line — I'm  glad 
yon  reminded  me,  Susan." 

Quentyns  went  into  his  tiny  little  study,  and 
wrote  a  few  hasty  words. 


1 66  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"DEAR  HILDA:  I  have  some  important  work 
to  get  through  to-night,  and  shall  not  be  back 
early.  I  have  the  latch-key,  so  no  one  need  sit 
up.  I  shall  dine  at  the  club  with  Rivers.  Go  to 
bed  early  if  you  are  tired. 

"  Your  Affectionate  Husband.'' 

This  letter  was  handed  to  Hilda  on  her  arrival. 
She  was  too  excited  and  too  interested  in  get 
ting  Judy  into  the  house,  and  showing  her  all 
the  pleasant  arrangements  made  for  her  comfort, 
to  read  it  at  first;  but  when  her  tired  little  sister 
was  safe  in  bed,  and  Hilda  had  seen  her  enjoying 
a  cup  of  tea,  with  some  toast  and  a  new-laid 
country  egg,  then  she  took  Jasper's  note  out  of 
her  pocket. 

She  was  in  her  own  room,  and  she  hesitated 
for  a  moment  before  she  opened  it.  She  had  a 
kind  of  premonition  that  there  was  pain  in  it. 
Her  home-coming  had  made  her  happy,  and 
even  while  she  was  opening  the  envelope  of  Jas 
per's  letter  she  was  listening  for  the  click  of  his 
latch-key  in  the  hall-door  lock. 

He  was  always  home  in  good  time  on  Satur 
days,  and  surely  he  would  make  extra  haste  to 
night  in  order  to  give  his  wife  and  his  little 
sister  a  hearty  welcome. 

Hilda's  was  the  most  forgiving  nature  in  the 


JUDY'S  ROOM.  167 

world.  During  that  scene  in  the  conservatory 
at  Little  Staimton  she  had  lost  her  temper  with 
her  husband,  but  she  felt  quite  sure  now  that  her 
hasty  words  must  be  forgotten.  As  she  forgave 
absolutely,  so  would  he.  Why  had  he  written 
to  her  therefore?  Why  was  he  not  here?  She 
pulled  the  note  out  of  its  envelope,  and  read  the 
few  words  that  it  contained. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  her  heart  sank 
down,  down,  very  low  indeed  in  her  breast.  She 
became  conscious  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  of 
that  heart-hunger,  that  absolute  starved  sort  of 
ache  which  had  so  nearly  wrecked  Judy's  little 
life.  This  was  the  first  pang  of  pain,  but  the 
ache  was  to  go  on  and  become  worse  presently. 

Hilda  was  a  very  patient  sort  of  woman,  how 
ever,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  her  to  cry  out  or 
make  a  fuss.  She  read  the  note  twice,  then  put 
it  into  her  pocket  and  went  downstairs. 

"  Tell  cook  that  I  don't  want  any  dinner,"  she 
said  to  Susan;  "  I  will  have  my  tea  upstairs  with 
Miss  Judy.  Tell  her  not  to  get  dinner,  as  Mr. 
Quentyns  is  obliged  to  be  out  this  evening." 

"  Hilda,"  called  Judy's  weak  little  voice  from 
out  of  her  luxurious  white  bed;  "  Hilda,  do  come 
here  a  minute." 

Hilda  went  immediately  into  the  room. 

"  I  am  so  happy  and  so  sleepy,"  said  Judy. 


168  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  I'm  like  a  bird  in  a  nest — oh,  I  am  so  snug. 
Jasper  will  be  coming  in  presently,  won't  he, 
Hilda?  and  you'll  want  to  be  with  him.  I 
shan't  need  you  at  all  to-night,  Hilda  darling; 
I'm  going  to  sleep  very  soon,  and  I  just  sent  for 
you  now  to  say  that  you  mustn't  come  up  to  me 
after  dinner — you  must  stay  with  Jasper  and  let 
him  amuse  you.  I  am  sure  you  want  lots  of 
amusement  after  all  the  dull  nursing  you  have 
had.  Go  and  put  on  your  pretty  dinner  dress 
now,  Hilda,  and  then  come  and  look  at  me  and 
say  good-night.  I  am  so  awfully  happy,  and  I 
just  want  one  kiss  from  you  before  I  go  to 
sleep." 

"  But  you  don't  want  to  go  to  sleep  yet,  little 
puss,"  said  Hilda,  in  her  most  cheerful  tone;  "  at 
least  I  hope  you  don't  until  I  have  had  my  tea. 
I  want  to  have  my  tea  with  you,  darling,  so  I 
hope  you  don't  mind  putting  up  with  my  com 
pany  for  a  little  longer." 

"  As  if  I  could  mind — you  know  better.  But, 
Hilda,  if  you  have  tea  now  you  won't  be  hungry 
for  your  dinner." 

Judy  puckered  her  dark  brows  with  anxiety. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  have  dinner." 

"You  aren't — not  really!  then  what  will  Jas 
per  say?  " 

"  I've  had  a  little  letter  from  Jasper,  darling; 


JUDY'S  ROOM.  169 

he  is  obliged  to  be  out  late  on  business,  and 
won't  dine  at  home  to-night.  Ah,  here  comes 
Susan  with  another  new-laid  egg  for  me,  and 
some  fresh  toast.  Now  I  am  going  to  have  a 
delightful  little  supper  in  your  company,  Judy, 
and  then  I  shall  settle  you  for  the  night." 

Hilda  talked  faster  than  was  her  wont;  there 
was  an  additional  rose-color  in  her  pretty  cheeks, 
and  a  brighter  light  than  usual  in  her  soft  brown 
eyes.  She  laughed  and  jested  and  made  merry 
over  her  egg  and  toast. 

"  How  pretty  you  look!  "  said  Judy,  with  a 
heart-whole  sigh  of  admiration  and  content. 

She  saw  nothing  wrong,  and  Hilda  kissed  her 
and  left  the  room  a  few  minutes  later. 

She  was  still  wearing  her  heavy  traveling- 
dress,  but  after  a  moment's  reflection  she  went 
into  her  bedroom,  and  quickly  changed  it  for  a 
pale  silk  dress  of  the  softest  shade  of  rose.  This 
dress  was  a  special  favorite  of  her  husband's;  he 
used  to  liken  her  to  a  rosebud  in  it,  and  said  that 
no  color  more  truly  matched  the  soft  tender 
bloom  of  her  young  face. 

Hilda  put  on  the  rose  silk  now,  arranged  her 
dark  hair  picturesquely,  and  going  downstairs  to 
the  little  drawing  room,  occupied  herself  for  an 
hour  or  more  in  giving  it  some  of  those  delicate 
touches  which  make  the  difference  between 


I 7°  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

the  mistress  of  the  house  being  at  home  and 
away. 

It  was  a  very  warm  evening  for  the  time  of 
year,  but  Hilda  had  a  fire  lit  in  the  grate.  The 
shaded  lamp  shed  a  softened  golden  glow  in  its 
accustomed  corner  of  the  room,  and  Jasper's 
favorite  chair  was  placed  ready  for  his  reception; 
then  Hilda  sank  down  into  her  own  easy-chair, 
and  taking  up  a  book,  tried  to  read. 

Susan  came  presently  into  the  room. 

"  Oh,  Susan,"  said  her  mistress,  "  I  was  about 
to  ring  for  you.  It  has  struck  ten  o'clock;  you 
and  cook  are  to  go  to  bed,  please;  I  will  wait  up 
for  Mr.  Quentyns." 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,"  said  Susan. 

She  stopped  and  hesitated. 

"Yes,  Susan?"  answered  Mrs.  Quentyns,  in 
a  gentle  interrogative  tone. 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,  master  has  been  very 
late  coming  home  when  you  was  in  the  country 
— not  till  past  midnight  most  nights." 

"Thank  you,  Susan;  but  Mr.  Quentyns  will 
probably  be  in  earlier  to-night,  and  I  wish  to 
remain  up.  Go  to  bed,  and  tell  cook  to  do  the 
same.  Oh,  and  please,  I  should  like  Miss  Judy 
to  have  a  cup  of  tea  brought  to  her  room  at 
eight  to-morrow  morning.  Good-night,  Susan." 

The  parlor-maid  withdrew. 


JUDY'S  ROOM.  171 

"  And  don't  she  look  beautiful  as  a  pictur," 
she  muttered  under  her  breath.  "  Pore  young 
lady,  I  doubt  if  she's  pleased  with  master 
though.  Him  staying  away  and  all  on  the  first 
night  as  she  comes  back.  I  wouldn't  set  up  for 
him  ef  I  were  her — no,  that  I  wouldn't;  I 
wouldn't  make  so  little  of  myself;  but  she's 
proud,  too,  is  Mrs.  Quentyns,  and  she  don't  let 
on;  no,  not  a  bit.  Well,  I  respect  her  for  that, 
but  I  misdoubt  me  if  all  is  right  atween  that 
pair." 

Susan  went  upstairs  to  confide  her  suspicions 
to  cook.  They  talked  in  low  whispers  together, 
and  wondered  what  the  mystery  could  be  which 
was  keeping  Quentyns  from  his  pretty  wife's 
side. 

In  the  meantime,  in  the  silent  house  the  mo 
ments  for  the  one  anxious  watcher  went  slowly 
by.  Her  novel  was  not  interesting — she  let  it 
fall  on  her  knees,  and  looking  at  the  little  clock 
on  the  mantelpiece,  counted  the  moments  until 
eleven  should  strike.  She  quite  expected  that 
Jasper  would  be  home  at  eleven.  It  did  not  enter 
for  a  moment  into  her  calculations  that  he  could 
be  absent  on  this  first  night  of  her  return  be 
yond  that  hour.  When  the  eleven  musical 
strokes  sounded  on  the  little  clock,  and  were 
echoed  in  many  deeper  booms  from  without,. 


1 72  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

she  got  up,  and  opening  the  drawing-room  door, 
stepped  out  into  the  little  hall. 

Footsteps  kept  passing  and  passing  in  the 
street.  Cabs  kept  rolling  up  to  other  doors  and 
rolling  away  again.  Jasper  must  surely  arrive 
at  any  moment. 

Hilda  softly  opened  the  hall  door,  and  stand 
ing  on  the  steps,  looked  up  and  down  the  gas- 
lit  street.  If  Jasper  were  walking  home  he 
would  see  her.  The  lamp  light  from  within 
threw  her  slim  figure  into  strong  relief.  A  man 
passing  by  stopped  for  an  instant  to  look  at  her. 

Hilda  shut  the  hall  door  hastily  in  fear  and 
distress.  The  man  had  looked  as  if  he  might  say 
something  rude.  She  returned  to  her  little 
drawing  room,  and  sitting  down  by  the  dying 
fire  stared  fixedly  into  its  embers  until  her  eyes 
were  full  of  tears. 

Between  twelve  and  one  Quentyns  let  himself 
softly  into  the  house  with  his  latch-key.  He 
was  immediately  attracted  by  the  light  in  the 
drawing  room,  the  door  of  which  was  slightly 
ajar.  He  came  into  the  room  at  once,  to  find 
Hilda  lying  back  in  her  easy-chair,  fast  asleep. 
She  was  looking  pale — all  her  pretty  roses  had 
fled.  Quentyns'  first  impulse  was  to  fold  her  in 
his  arms  in  an  embrace  of  absolute  love  and 
reconciliation. 


JUDY'S  ROOM.  173 

What  a  pity  it  is  that  we  don't  oftener  yield 
to  our  first  impulses,  for  they  are  as  a  rule  whis 
pered  to  us  by  our  good  angels. 

Quentyns  bent  forward,  and  lightly,  very 
lightly,  touched  the  sleeper's  soft  hair  with  his 
big  hand.  That  touch  was  a  caress,  but  it 
startled  Hilda,  who  woke  up  with  a  cry. 

"  Oh,  Jasper,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with 
alarm  in  her  eyes,  "  you — you  are  home!  I 
didn't  mean  to  go  to  sleep,  and — what  is  it, 
Jasper?  " 

"  Kiss  me,  Hilda;  I  am  glad  you  have  re 
turned,"  said  Quentyns.  "  But  another  night, 
if  I  should  happen  to  be  late,  you  must  not  sit 
up  for  me — I  hate  being  waited  for." 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE    LITTLE    RIFT. 

No  backward  path  ;  ah!  no  returning  ; 

No  second  crossing  that  ripple's  flow: 
Come  to  me  now  for  the  mist  is  burning  : 

Come  ere  it  darkens  ;  Ah,  no;  ah,  no  ! 

— JEAN  INGELOW. 

Jasper  Quentyns  was  quite  certain  that  he  was 
behaving  admirably  under  circumstances  of  a 
specially  trying  nature. 

Judy's  advent  in  the  house  gave  him  no  small 
annoyance.  Hilda's  behavior  about  Judy,  her 
fit  of  sudden  passion,  above  all  the  relinquish 
ing  of  her  engagement  ring,  had  cut  him  to  the 
quick.  He  was  proud,  sensitive,  and  jealous; 
when,  therefore,  he  could  smile  at  Judy  and  chat 
in  light  and  pleasant  tones  to  his  wife,  when  he 
could  remark  on  the  furniture  in  the  spare  room, 
and  make  many  suggestions  for  the  comfort  of 
the  little  sister-in-law  whom  he  detested,  he  was 
under  the  impression  that  his  conduct  was  not 
only  exemplary  but  Christian. 

It  was  true  that  he  went  out  a  good  deal  in  the 
evenings,  not  taking  Hilda  with  him  as  had  been 


THE  LITTLE   RIFT.  1 75 

his  original  intention,  but  leaving  her  at  home  to 
enjoy  the  society  of  the  child  who  had  brought 
the  first  cloud  into  his  home. 

"  I  am  going  to  dine  out  to-night,  Hilda,"  he 
would  say.  "  A  man  I  know  particularly  well 
has  asked  me.  Afterward  he  and  I  may  go  to 
the  theater  together.  You  won't  mind  of  course 
being  left,  as  you  have  Judy  with  you?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  dear!  "  she  replied,  on  the  first  of 
these  occasions;  and  when  Jasper  came  to  say 
something  of  this  sort  two  or  three  times  a  week, 
Hilda's  invariable  gentle  answer  was  always  that 
she  did  not  mind. 

Jasper  was  kind — kindness  itself,  and  if  she 
did  feel  just  a  trifle  afraid  of  him,  and  if  she  could 
not  help  knowing  all  over  her  heart  that  the  sun 
did  not  shine  now  for  her,  that  there  was  a  cloud 
between  her  husband  and  herself,  which  she 
could  neither  brush  away  nor  penetrate,  she 
made  no  outward  sign  of  being  anything  differ 
ent  from  the  cheery  and  affectionate  Hilda  of 
old.  There  were  subjects  now,  however,  which 
she  shrank  from  touching  on  in  Jasper's  pres 
ence.  One  of  them  was  her  engagement  ring, 
another  the  furniture  in  Judy's  room.  That 
ring  she  had  been  told  by  more  than  one  con 
noisseur  was  worth  at  least  fifty  pounds,  and 
Hilda  was  certain  that  the  simple  furniture  which 


1 76  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

made  Judy's  little  room  so  bower-like  and  youth 
ful  could  not  have  cost  anything  approaching 
that  sum.  Still  Jasper  said  nothing  about  giv 
ing  her  change  out  of  the  money  which  he  had 
spent,  and  Hilda  feared  to  broach  the  subject  of 
the  ring  to  him.  Another  topic  which  by  a  sort 
of  instinct  she  refrained  from  was  Judy  herself. 
When  Jasper  was  in  the  house  Hilda  was  always 
glad  when  Judy  retired  to  her  own  room. 
When  the  gay  little  voice,  happy  now,  and  clear 
and  sweet  as  a  lark's,  was  heard  singing  snatches 
of  gay  songs  all  over  the  house,  if  Jasper  were 
there,  Hilda  would  carefully  close  the  door  of  the 
room  he  was  sitting  in. 

"  Not  now,  Judy  darling,"  she  would  say, 
when  the  child  bounded  eagerly  into  their  pres 
ence.  "  Jasper  is  just  going  out — when  he  is 
out  I  will  attend  to  you.  Go  on  with  your  draw 
ing  in  the  dining  room  until  I  come  to  you, 
Judy." 

Judy  would  go  away  at  once  obedient  and 
happy,  but  Hilda's  face  would  flush  with  anxiety, 
and  her  eyes  would  not  meet  her  husband's.  So 
between  each  of  these  young  people  there  was 
that  wall  of  reserve  which  is  the  sad  beginning 
of  love's  departure;  but  Hilda,  being  the  weaker 
of  the  two  and  having  less  to  occupy  her 
thoughts,  suffered  more  than  Jasper. 


THE  LITTLE  RIFT.  I?7 

On  a  certain  evening  when  Judy  had  been  a 
happy  resident  of  No.  10  Philippa  Terrace  for 
over  a  month,  Quentyns  was  about  to  leave  his 
office  and  to  return  home,  when  his  friend  Tom 
Rivers  entered  his  room. 

"  Have  you  any  engagement  for  to-night, 
Quentyns?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  None,"  said  Jasper,  visible  relief  on  his  face, 
for  he  was  beginning  to  dislike  the  evenings 
which  he  spent  with  a  wife  who  always  had  a 
sense  of  constraint  over  her,  and  with  the  knowl 
edge  that  Judy's  presence  was  only  tolerated 
when  he  was  by.  "  I  am  at  your  service,  Tom," 
said  Jasper.  "  Do  you  want  me  to  go  anywhere 
with  you?  " 

Rivers  was  a  great  deal  older  than  Quentyns, 
he  was  a  very  clever  and  practical  man  of  the 
world.  He  looked  now  full  at  Jasper.  He  had 
not  failed  to  observe  the  eager  relief  on  his 
friend's  face  when  he  asked  if  he  had  any  engage 
ment.  To  a  certain  extent  Jasper  had  made 
Rivers  his  confidant.  He  had  told  him  that 
Hilda's  little  sister,  who  had  been  so  ill  and  had 
given  them  all  such  a  fright,  was  staying  now  at 
Philippa  Terrace. 

Rivers  shrewdly  guessed  that  Hilda's  little  sis 
ter  was  scarcely  a  welcome  guest,  as  far  as 
Quentyns  was  concerned.  Rivers  had  taken  a 


*7  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

fancy  to  pretty  Mrs.  Quentyns.  With  a  quick 
mental  survey  he  saw  again  the  picture  of  the 
young  wife  on  the  night  when  he  had  dined  at 
Philippa  Terrace. 

"  She  did  not  look  perfectly  happy,"  he 
thought.  "  I  hope  Quentyns  is  good  to  her.  I 
seldom  saw  a  more  charming  face  than  hers,  but 
with  such  eyes,  so  full  of  expression,  so  full  of 
that  sort  of  dumb,  dog-like  affectionateness,  she 
must,  she  will  suffer  horribly  if  there  comes  a 
cloud  between  her  husband  and  herself.  Quen 
tyns  is  the  best  of  fellows,  but  he  can  be  dogged 
and  obstinate — I  hope  to  goodness  there's  noth 
ing  up  in  that  pretty  little  home  of  theirs." 

Aloud  Rivers  said  abruptly,  "  I  had  thought 
of  asking  you  to  dine  at  the  club  with  me,  and 
then  we  might  have  gone  to  see  Irving  in  Henry 
VIII., — a  friend  has  given  me  two  stalls, — but  on 
second  thoughts  I  can  dispose  of  those  tickets. 
What  I  should  really  like  best  is  to  come  home 
with  you,  Quentyns,  and  have  the  pleasure  of 
another  chat  with  your  wife.  I  want  to  hear 
you  both  sing  too — I  seldom  heard  two  voices 
better  suited  to  go  together.  May  I  invite  my 
self  to  dinner  to-night,  Jasper?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Jasper,  after  a  moment's 
awkward  hesitation.  "  I'll  just  wire  to  Hilda,  if 
you  don't  mind." 


THE  LITTLE  RIFT.  179 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Rivers;  "  but  remember,  I 
am  coming  to  take  pot-luck." 

Jasper  ran  off  to  the  nearest  telegraph  office. 

Rivers  saw  that  his  proposal  was  anything  but 
welcome,  but  for  that  very  reason  he  was  deter 
mined  to  carry  it  out. 

An  hour  later  he  found  himself  standing  in  the 
pretty  drawing  room  in  Philippa  Terrace,  talk 
ing  to  the  most  charming  little  girl  he  had  ever 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting. 

Quentyns  had  run  up  at  once  to  his  room,  and 
Hilda  had  not  yet  put  in  an  appearance,  but 
Judy,  who  was  sitting  on  a  sofa  reading  "  Sylvie 
and  Bruno,"  jumped  up  at  once  and  came  for 
ward  in  her  shy  but  self-possessed  little  way  to 
meet  her  sister's  guest. 

"  How  do  you  do?  "  she  said.  "  Where  would 
you  like  to  sit?  " 

"  I  prefer  standing,  thank  you,"  said  Rivers. 
He  smiled  at  Judy  and  held  out  his  hand.  "  So 
you  are  the  young  mutineer,"  he  said  suddenly. 

Judy's  big  eyes  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise — 
she  was  dressed  in  a  green  silk  frock,  with  a 
broad  golden-brown  sash  round  her  waist.  Her 
dress  was  cut  rather  low  in  the  neck,  and  she  had 
several  rows  of  golden-brown  beads  round  her 
throat.  The  quaint  dress  suited  the  quaint  but 
earnest  little  face. 


l8o  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  calling  me  such  a 
queer  name?  "  said  Judy. 

"  I  am  a  great  friend  of  your  brother-in-law's," 
said  Rivers,  now  dropping  into  a  chair  and  draw 
ing  the  child  toward  him,  "  and  he  has  told  me 
all  about  you — you  mutinied  when  Mrs.  Quen- 
tyns  went  away — it  was  very  wrong  of  you,  very 
wrong  indeed." 

'  You  can't  judge  anything  about  it,"  said 
Judy,  the  sensitive  color  coming  into  her  face; 
"  you  are  on  Jasper's  side,  so  you  can't  know." 

"  Of  course  I'm  on  Jasper's  side,  he's  an  excel 
lent  fellow,  and  a  great  friend  of  mine." 

"  I  don't  like  him,"  said  Judy;  "  it  isn't  to  be 
expected  I  should." 

"  Of  course  not,  you  wouldn't  be  a  mutineer  if 
you  did." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  me  by  that  horrid 
name,"  said  Judy.  "  I  can't  quite  understand 
what  it  means,  but  I'm  sure  it's  disagreeable." 

"  A  mutineer  is  always  a  disagreeable  person," 
continued  Rivers,  looking  with  his  pleasant  eyes 
full  at  the  child.  "  He  is  in  a  state  of  rebellion, 
you  know.  People  aren't  nice  when  they  rebel 
against  the  inevitable." 

"  What's  the  inevitable?  "  asked  Judy. 

"The  inevitable!"  repeated  Rivers.  "The 
inevitable,"  he  continued  gravely,  "  is  what  has 


THE  LITTLE  RIFT.  '    181 

to  be  met  because  it  cannot  be  avoided.  The 
inevitable  stands  directly  in  a  person's  path;  he 
can't  go  round  it,  he  can't  jump  over  it,  he  has 
just  to  meet  it  bravely  and  make  the  best  friend 
he  possibly  can  of  it." 

"  Oh,"  said  Judy,  "  that  sounds  like  a  fairy 
tale.  Babs  and  I  love  fairy  tales,  particularly 
the  old,  old  ones — the  Jack  the  Giant  Killer  sort 
— you  understand?  " 

"  Jack  the  Giant  Killer  had  lots  of  inevitables 
to  meet,"  pursued  Rivers. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  Judy;  "now  I  know 
what  you  mean  as  far  as  dear  Jack  was  con 
cerned,  but  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  about 
me." 

"  Well,  you  see,  Miss  Judy — you  don't  mind 
my  calling  Jasper's  little  sister  Miss  Judy?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  of  him,"  said  Judy,  a  frown 
between  her  brows. 

"  But  I  must  if  I'm  to  explain  my  meaning  to 
you,  for  he's  the  inevitable." 

"  Now  what  do  you  mean? — you're  the  most 
puzzling  sort  of  grown-up  person  I  ever  met!  " 

"  And  you're  the  most  intelligent  sort  of  little 
person  I  ever  met.  Now  let  me  explain  matters 
to  you.  Your  sister  is  very  pretty,  isn't  she?  " 

"  Pretty?  "  said  Judy  meditatively — "  pretty 
is  such  a  common  sort  of  word — if  you  call 


182  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

flowers  pretty,  Hilda  is,  I  suppose,  but  she's 
much,  much  more  than  pretty." 

"  I  understand.  I'm  quite  sure  I  understand 
you  perfectly.  And  your  sister  is  good  too,  and 
sweet?  " 

"  Oh,  yes!  "  Judy's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  she 
blinked  her  eyelashes  and  looked  out  of  the 
window. 

"  Well,  now,"  said  Rivers,  and  his  voice  was 
quite  tender,  for  Judy's  manner  and  attitude 
touched  him  wonderfully.  "  Well,  now,  you  see 
it  was  inevitable  that  some  man  should  love  a 
woman  like  your  sister,  and  want  to  make  her 
his  wife,  and  wish  to  take  her  altogether  to  him 
self.  It  was  inevitable,  also,  that  a  woman  with 
a  gentle  heart  like  Mrs.  Quentyns  should  love 
this  man  in  return  and  want  to  devote  her  life  to 
him." 

"  Don't!  "  said  Judy,  suddenly;  "  I  understand 
you  now,  I  don't  want  you  to  say  another  word." 
She  crossed  over  to  the  window  and  stood  there 
with  her  back  to  Rivers,  looking  gravely  out. 

Hilda  came  down  in  her  rose-colored  silk,  and 
Rivers  did  not  wonder  that  Judy  thought  of  the 
flowers  when  she  looked  at  her. 

Hilda  was  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  him,  and 
they  had  a  pleasanter  evening  than  any  since 
Judy's  advent  in  Philippa  Terrace.  Rivers  paid 


THE  LITTLE  RIFT,  183 

a  great  deal  of  attention  to  the  smallest  and 
youngest  member  of  the  party,  and  not  only 
completely  won  Hilda's  heart  by  so  doing,  but 
induced  Quentyns  to  look  at  his  little  sister-in- 
law  with  new  eyes,  and  to  discover  for  the  first 
time,  that  under  certain  conditions  that  wistful 
little  face  could  be  both  lovely  and  charming. 

"  Remember  about  the  inevitable,"  said 
Rivers,  as  he  bade  the  child  good-night. 

"  What  did  Mr.  Rivers  mean,  Judy? "  said 
Hilda.  "Oh,  Judy,  what  flushed  cheeks! — I 
did  wrong  to  let  you  sit  up,  but  you  seemed  so 
happy — you  seemed  to  take  such  a  fancy  to  Mr. 
Rivers." 

"  He  was  disagreeable  to  me — very  disagree 
able,"  said  Judy,  "  but  I  liked  him." 

"  And  what  did  he  mean  by  reminding  you  of 
the  inevitable?"  continued  Hilda. 

"  It  was  in  that  way  he  was  disagreeable,"  re 
plied  Judy.  "  I  can't  explain,  Hilda  darling; 
good-night — I  am  going  to  bed  now." 

That  evening,  in  their  own  room,  Hilda  came 
suddenly  to  her  husband's  side. 

"  Jasper,  don't  you  think  you  might  forget 
about  it  now?  "  she  said  timidly. 

"  Forget  about  what,  Hilda?  "  He  had  been 
genial  and  pleasant  until  she  began  to  speak; 
now  his  face  stiffened  in  every  outline,  and  the 


184  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

look  came  over  it  which  always  took  poor 
Hilda's  courage  away. 

"  We  were  so  happy  to-night,"  she  began  in  a 
faltering  voice — "  we  had  quite  the  best  evening 
we  have  had  since —  "  here  she  hesitated. 

"  Since  Judy  came,"  pursued  Jasper.  "  Yes, 
that  goes  without  saying,  there  were  four  of  us 
— even  the  dearest  friends  are  dull  when  there 
are  three,  and  of  course  Rivers  is  capital  com 
pany,  he's  quite  the  best  fellow  all  round  I  ever 
met." 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Hilda,  a  little  impatiently,. 
"  but  I  don't  want  to  talk  of  him.  Jasper  dear, 
let  us  forget,  let  us — oh,  let  us  be  as  we  were 
before." 

Tears  choked  her  voice,  she  turned  her  head 
away. 

"  I  am  so  tired,"  she  said  suddenly;  "  I  am  the 
sort  of  girl  who  wrants  sunshine,  I  am  so  tired  of 
being  without  it." 

"  When  you  talk  in  that  metaphorical  style  I 
fail  to  understand  you,"  said  Ouentyns. 
"  There's  not  the  least  cloud  between  us  that  I 
am  aware  of,  and  if  you  are  not  in  the  sunshine, 
Hilda,  I  am  afraid  it  is  your  own  fault.  I  have 
done  everything  in  my  power  to  meet  your 
wishes.  You  profess  great  love  for  me,  and 


THE  LITTLE  RIFT.  185 

great  love  for  your  sister,  and  now  you  have  us 
both,  what  can  you  possibly  want  besides?  " 

"  Only  your  forgiveness,  your  complete  and 
full  forgiveness." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,  my  dear.  You 
do  your  best — no  one  can  do  better  than  their 
best." 

"  No,"  said  poor  Hilda,  with  a  sigh.  She  did 
not  add  any  more. 

"  I  trust  you  are  not  going  to  turn  into  a  fan 
ciful  sort  of  woman,"  said  Quentyns,  half  an 
hour  later.  "  If  there's  a  person  in  the  world 
who  irritates  me  it's  a  woman  with  whims,  c. 
woman  who  has  a  grievance." 

"  Oh,  no,  Jasper!  I  won't  have  a  grievance," 
she  replied  humbly. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THREE    IS    TRUMPERY. 

The  crown  must  be  won  for  Heaven,  dear, 

In  the  battle-field  of  life  : 

My  child,  though  thy  foes  are  strong  uid  tried, 

He  loveth  the  weak  and  small  ; 

The  Angels  of  Heaven  are  on  thy  side, 

And  God  is  over  all  ! 

— ADELAIDE  PROCTOR. 

Judy's  life  was  sunshine,  and  therefore  Judy 
got  quickly  well;  she  was  like  the  birds  and  the 
flowers — give  her  sunshine  enough,  and  she 
would  sing  like  the  birds  and  bloom  like  the 
flowers.  Hilda  was  her  sun,  and  now  she  was 
always  basking  herself  in  the  beloved  presence. 
Her  cup  of  happiness  was  full,  and  such  content 
ment  reigned  in  her  little  heart  that  no  moment 
was  dull  to  her,  and  time  never  hung  heavy  on 
her  hands. 

Hilda  was  just  as  sweet  and  loving  as  of  old, 
and  really,  now  that  she  lived  in  the  house  with 
him,  Jasper,  her  bete  noire,  the  awful  big  brother- 
in-law  who  had  come  and  stolen  her  treasure 
away,  seemed  to  make  but  little  difference  in  her 

186 


THREE  IS    TRUMPERY.  187 

life;  it  was  almost  nicer  being  with  Hilda  in  Lon 
don  than  being  with  Hilda  at  the  old  Rectory — 
she  seemed  to  get  more  undivided  attention 
from  her  sister  than  when  that  sister  was  the 
Rector's  right  hand  in  his  busy  life,  and  when 
Judy  had  to  learn  lessons  with  Babs,  and  walk 
with  stupid,  non-comprehending  Miss  Mills. 

Now  Judy  learned  rapidly,  for  Hilda  was  her 
teacher;  and  how  delightful  that  lunch  was 
which  was  also  Judy's  early  dinner,  when  she  and 
her  sister  sat  tete-a-tete,  and  talked  always, 
always  of  old  times. 

If  visitors  dropped  in  at  tea-time  Judy  could 
afford,  in  her  generous  happiness,  to  give  them 
a  little  of  her  fascinating  Hilda's  attention,  for 
so  often  now  there  were  heavenly  evenings  to 
follow,  when  that  bete  noire  the  brother-in-law 
was  not  coming  home,  and  the  two  sisters  could 
be  alone. 

Judy  loved  the  cozy  sort  of  tea-dinners  which 
began  those  evenings,  and  then  the  long  talk 
afterward  in  the  lengthening  twilight,  when  she 
sat  on  a  stool  at  Hilda's  feet,  with  her  head 
pressed  up  against  Hilda's  arm,  and  her  happy 
heart  beating  close  to  the  other  heart,  which  was 
all  her  world. 

On  those  evenings  too  Hilda  came  upstairs 
and  tucked  her  up  in  her  white  bed,  and  said, 


1 88  A     YOU.\'G   MUTINEER. 

Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep  to  her,  just  as  she 
used  in  the  old  nursery  at  home,  after  mother 
died. 

It  was  an  understood  thing,  although  no 
words  had  passed  between  the  two — it  was  an 
understood  thing,  that  on  the  evenings  when 
Jasper  was  at  home,  Hilda  should  not  come  up 
stairs  to  Judy.  This  seemed  a  perfectly  fair  and 
just  arrangement,  they  were  both  in  full  accord 
on  the  subject;  but  Judy  could  not  help  loving 
those  days  when  she  might  have  her  sister  all  to 
herself  the  best. 

On  the  morning  after  Rivers  had  dined  in 
Philippa  Terrace,  as  Jasper  was  preparing  to  go 
out  as  usual,  Hilda  ran  into  the  little  hall  to  give 
him  a  last  word;  she  left  the  door  of  the  dining 
room  ajar,  which  was  not  her  invariable  custom, 
and  Judy,  sitting  at  the  breakfast  table,  found 
herself  in  the  position  of  an  eavesdropper. 

"  You  are  coming  back  to  dinner  to-night?  " 
asked  the  wife. 

Jasper  had  been  visited  with  some  slight 
qualms  of  compunction  that  morning,  as  he 
noticed  how  much  paler  Hilda's  face  was  than 
when  first  he  had  married  her,  so  he  put  his  arm 
round  her  neck  now,  and  looking  at  her  with 
something  of  his  old  tenderness,  said  gently: 

"  Do  you  really  wish  it?  " 


THREE  IS    TRUMPERY.  189 

"Jasper,  how  can  you  doubt?"  she  replied. 
"  All  the  moments  you  are  away  from  me  are 
long  and  wearisome." 

"  Long  and  wearisome,"  repeated  Judy  softly 
to  herself  in  the  breakfast  parlor.  Some  of  the 
color  fled  out  of  her  face  now;  she  lost  her  appe 
tite  for  the  bread-and-butter  and  marmalade 
which  she  was  eating. 

"  You  don't  find  three  trumpery,"  pursued 
Jasper.  Then  he  added  with  a  little  sigh,  "  I 
wish  I  didn't;  but  I'll  come  home,  Hilda,  if  you 
wish  it.  Good-by,  my  dear.  Stay,  stop  a  mo 
ment;  suppose  I  take  you  to  the  play  to-night. 
Judy  won't  mind  going  to  bed  a  little  earlier 
than  usual." 

Just  at  that  moment  Hilda  started  and  looked 
round;  she  heard  a  slight  noise,  and  wondered 
if  Susan  were  coming  upstairs.  The  sound 
which  disturbed  her  was  made  by  Judy,  who, 
awaking  suddenly  to  the  knowledge  that  she  was 
an  eavesdropper,  had  risen  from  the  breakfast 
table  and  had  gently  closed  the  dining-room 
door. 

"  Of  course  Judy  doesn't  mind  being  left,'1 
said  Hilda  in  a  joyful  tone.  "  I  should  love  to 
go  out  somewhere  with  you,  Jasper.  I  really  do 
want  a  little  bit  of  change." 

"  Very   well,   my   love;   I'll   take   tickets   for 


19°  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

something  amusing,  and  be  home  to  dinner  at 
six." 

Quentyns  went  out,  and  Hilda  danced  back 
to  the  dining  room.  Her  husband  had  been 
kind,  with  something  of  the  old  tender  kindness, 
and  her  heart  leaped  up  like  a  flower  answering 
to  the  sun. 

Judy  was  standing  by  the  window  looking  out. 

"  Isn't  it  a  lovely  day,  pet?  "  said  Hilda,  com 
ing  up  to  her.  "  Suppose  we  give  ourselves  a 
holiday,  and  go  to  the  Academy  together.  I 
have  not  been  there  yet  this  year,  and  you  have 
never  been  in  all  your  life,  puss.  You  know 
how  you  love  pictures;  fancy  room  after  room 
full  of  pictures — all  sorts,  good,  bad,  and  indif 
ferent;  all  colors  in  them;  all  sorts  of  subjects 
depicted  on  the  canvases.  There's  a  treat  for 
my  little  artist — shall  I  give  it  her?  " 

"  Yes,  Hilda,  I'd  like  to  go  with  you  very 
much." 

"  Are  you  tired,  dear,  your  face  is  so  grave?  " 

"  No,  darling,  I'm  not  at  all  tired." 

"  Well,  we'll  give  ourselves  a  holiday.  Run 
up  and  put  on  your  pretty  green  cloak,  and  that 
big  black  hat  with  the  green  velvet.  I  want  you 
to  look  as  picturesque  as  possible.  I  want  to  be 
proud  of  you." 

Judy  suddenly  flew  to  Hilda,  clasped  her  arms 


THREE   IS    TRUMPERY.  191 

round  her  neck,  gave  her  a  passionate  hug,  and 
then  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  child?  "  thought 
the  elder  sister  for  a  brief  moment,  "  she  was  so 
bright  yesterday,  and  even  this  morning,  but 
now  she's  dull,  although  she  tries  to  hide  it.  I 
wonder  if  I  ought  to  give  her  some  more  of  her 
tonis.  Well,  well,  ^whether  Judy  is  grave  or 
gay,  I  cannot  help  feeling  very  happy  at  the 
thought  of  going  out  with  Jasper  once  more." 

Hilda  gave  all  directions  with  regard  to  the 
nice  little  dinner  which  was  to  precede  the  play. 
She  found  a  story  book  which  Judy  had  not  yet 
read,  and  left  it  in  the  drawing  room  ready  for 
her  entertainment  when  she  was  away;  then, 
dressed  also  in  her  best,  she  went  out  with  her 
little  sister,  and,  calling  a  hansom  from  the 
nearest  stand,  drove  to  Burlington  House. 

As  usual  the  great  exhibition  was  crowded 
with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men — the  fash 
ionable,  the  studious,  the  artistic,  the  ignorant, 
were  all  to  be  found  there.  Judy  had  a  passsion 
for  art.  She  was  an  artist  by  nature,  down  to 
the  tips  of  her  sensitive  little  fingers.  No  sooner 
did  she  find  herself  in  the  midst  of  all  the  pic 
tures,  than  whatever  cloud  made  her  a  little 
graver  than  usual  took  to  itself  wings  and  flew 
away. 


I92  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Her  pertinent  remarks,  her  eager  criticism, 
shrewd,  observant,  often  strangely  to  the  point, 
aroused  the  attention  of  some  of  the  bystanders; 
they  smiled  as  the  pretty  child  and  the  beautiful 
girl  walked  slowly  by  together.  Judy's  intel 
ligent  face  was  commented  on;  the  pathetic, 
eager,  wistful  eyes  seemed  to  make  their  way  to 
more  than  one  heart.  Hilda,  thinking  of  her 
evening  with  Jasper,  was  quite  her  old  self,  and 
people  thought  what  a  happy  pair  the  two  were. 

In  the  third  room  they  suddenly  came  face  to 
face  with  Rivers. 

"  What  a  bit  of  luck!  "  he  said,  going  up  at 
once  to  them.  "  Now,  Mrs.  Ouentyns,  I  shall 
insist  upon  taking  you  to  lunch  somewhere. 
Miss  Judy,  how  are  you?  what  do  you  think  of 
our  national  picture  fair?  " 

"  Some  of  the  pictures  are  lovely,"  she  replied. 

"Some!"  he  retorted,  raising  his  brows. 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  setting  your 
self  up  as  a  critic." 

"  Judy  is  an  artist  by  nature,"  said  Hilda  for 
her.  "  Hark  to  her  remarks  with  regard  to  the 
two  dogs  in  that  picture." 

"  They  are  meant  to  move,  but  they  are  per 
fectly  still"  said  Judy;  "  if  I  drew  them,  I'd  "— 
she  puckered  her  brows — "  oh,  I'd  see  that  they 
were  gamboling  about." 


THREE  IS    TRUMPERY.  193 

A  young  man,  who  was  standing  not  far  offs 
turned  away  with  a  red  face — he  happened  to  be 
the  unfortunate  artist.  Bitter  hatred  of  Judy 
filled  his  heart,  for  some  of  the  people  who  were 
standing  near  tittered  aloud,  and  remarked  for 
the  first  time  that  the  dogs  were  wooden. 

Rivers  walked  with  Mrs.  Quentyns  and  Judy 
through  the  different  rooms:  he  was  an  art  con 
noisseur  himself,  and  even  dabbled  in  paint  in  a 
dilettante  sort  of  fashion.  He  drew  Judy  on  to 
make  remarks,  laughed  and  quizzed  her  for  some 
ideas  which  he  considered  in  advance  of  the 
times,  for  others  which  were  altogether  too  anti 
quated  for  him  to  pass  unchallenged. 

"  Oh,  how  Stanmore  would  like  to  hear  you," 
he  remarked,  naming  one  of  the  pet  artists  of  the 
New  Art  school.  "  Why,  Judy,  you  are  a  demo 
crat  ;  we  should  havet  no  Academy  if  we  listened 
to  you,  you  little  rebel;  but  then,  I  forgot,  of 
course  you  are  a  mutineer — you  are  true  to  your 
character  through  everything." 

Hilda  scarcely  listened  as  the  young  man  and 
the  child  chatted  and  laughed  together,  her 
heart  was  dwelling  altogether  in  the  future. 
She  fancied  herself  even  now  driving  to  the  play 
by  her  husband's  side;  she  saw  the  pretty  dress 
she  meant  to  wear;  in  her  mind  was  reflected  as 
in  a  picture  the  image  of  her  fair  self,  and  the 


194  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

image  also  of  the  man  who  was  still  in  her  heart 
lover  as  well  as  husband.  No  matter  for  the 
present  cloud,  he  was  still  her  lover.  She  won 
dered  if  he  would  give  her  another  tender 
glance,  and  if,  as  they  sat  side  by  side  when  the 
curtain  was  up  and  the  actors  were  moving 
about  on  the  stage,  he  would  touch  her  hand 
with  his,  and  show  her  in  that  way  that  she  was 
forgiven. 

"  If  he  would  only  understand  that  I  must 
keep  both  my  vows,"  she  murmured,  "  if  I  could 
only  get  him  to  really  comprehend  that  much, 
much  as  I  love  my  Judy,  I  would  rather  be  alone 
with  him — that  is,  I  would  rather  be  alone  with 
him,  if  it  makes  him  unhappy  to  have  my  sweet 
little  Judy  in  the  house.  But  how  happy  she  is 
since  I  brought  her  home;  how  gay  her  voice 
sounds  now." 

"  I  said  you  were  a  mutineer,"  laughed  Rivers. 
"  I  know  by  your  manner  that  you  will  never 
put  up  with  the  inevitable." 

"  Don't!  "  said  Judy;  Hilda  was  looking  at  a 
lovely  landscape,  a  friend  she  knew  came  up  and 
spoke  to  her.  "Don't!"  said  Judy,  turning 
and  looking  full  at  the  young  man;  her  eyes  were 
grave,  her  childish  face  grew  suddenly  white  and 
drawn.  "  Perhaps  I  am  going  to  give  up  being 
a  mutineer,"  she  murmured. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A    LITTLE    GIRL    AND    A    LITTLE    CROSS. 

Love  that  hath  us  in  the  net, 
Can  he  pass,  and  we  forget  ? 
Many  suns  arise  and  set, 
Many  a  chance  the  years  beget. 
Love  the  gift  is  love  the  debt. 

Even  so. 

Love  is  hurt  with  jar  and  fret. 
Love  is  made  a  vague  regret. 
Eyes  with  idle  tears  are  wet. 
Idle  habit  links  us  yet, 
What  is  love  ?  for  we  forget : 
Ah,  no  !  no  ! 

— TENNYSON. 

Mrs.  Quentyns  and  Judy  enjoyed  their  lunch 
with  Rivers.  They  went  into  the  Park  after 
ward  for  a  short  time,  and  then  Hilda,  remem 
bering  that  the  hours  were  flying,  and  that  she 
must  be  dressed  and  ready  to  receive  her  hus 
band  before  six  that  evening,  bade  the  young 
man  a  hasty  good-by,  and  drove  home  with 
Judy. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  going  to  the  play," 
said  the  little  girl.  "  Why  don't  you  often  go — 
why  don't  you  constantly  go  out  in  the  even- 
ing?" 


I96  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  If  I  did,  Judy,  what  a  dull  time  you'd  have." 

"  You're  quite  mistaken,  Hilda;  I  shouldn't 
be  dull  at  all.  You  don't  know  how  I  like  story 
books,  and  Susan  is  such  a  nice  girl.  She  has 
got  brothers  and  sisters  at  home,  and  she  tells 
me  about  them  when  you  are  out.  I  am  never 
lonely;  I  couldn't  possibly  be  sad  in  the  same 
house  with  you.  If  I  saw  you  once  or  twice  a 
day  it  would  be  enough  for  me — it  would  really." 

"  My  dear  little  pet,"  laughed  Hilda,  "  how 
solemnly  you  are  talking,  what  a  frightfully  ear 
nest  tone  has  got  into  your  voice,  and  how  you 
are  puckering  your  poor  little  forehead.  I  have 
only  one  thing  to  say  in  reply  to  your  generous 
wish  to  leave  me  so  much  by  myself,  namely, 
that  I  should  find  it  extremely  inconvenient  and 
extremely  lonely  to  have  you  in  the  house  and 
only  see  you  twice  a  day." 

"  But  suppose  I  weren't  with  you  at  all,  Hilda 
— suppose  I  were  still  at  the  Rectory." 

"  That  would  be  different,"  said  Hilda,  in  a 
light  tone; <%  you  would  be  in  your  natural  home, 
and  I " 

"  But  you  would  be  lonely  if  I  were  away  from 
you,  Hilda;  do  say  you'd  be  fearfully  lonely!  " 

The  passion  in  Judy's  voice  was  unnoticed  by 
Hilda. 

"  I'd  miss  you,  of  course,  my  pet,"  she  said,* 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  AND  A  LITTLE  CKOSS.       19? 

"  but  I  do  declare  that  stupid  driver  is  taking  us 
wrong.  Oh,  if  he  goes  up  that  way  it  will  be 
such  a  round  that  I  shall  be  late  for  Jasper's  din 
ner.  Poke  your  parasol  through  the  little  win 
dow  in  the  roof,  Judy,  and  stop  him,  do." 

Judy  obeyed,  the  driver  received  his  direc 
tions  in  due  course,  and  a  moment  or  two  later 
Hilda  and  Judy  were  standing  in  the  little  hall 
at  Philippa  Terrace.  Quentyns  came  suddenly 
forward. 

"  Why,  Jasper,  you  have  come  back  already," 
said  the  wife.  "  It  isn't  five  yet,  but  I — I  can 
dress  in  no  time.  Have  you  got  the  tickets? — 
where  are  we  going?  " 

"  Come  into  the  drawing  room,  Hilda,  I  want 
to  say  a  word  to  you,"  said  Quentyns. 

"Run  upstairs  and  take  your  things  off, Judy," 
said  Hilda.  She  followed  her  husband  into  the 
little  drawing  room  and  shut  the  door.  "  Well?  " 
she  said.  Her  voice  was  still  gay,  but  a  little 
just  a  little,  of  the  old  fear 'was  creeping  back 
into  her  heart. 

"  I  am  ever  so  sorry,  Hilda,  to  disappoint 
yon."  said  Quentyns,  "  but  when  I  went  to  town 
this  morning  I  absolutely  forgot  an  engagement 
I  made  a  week  ago.  I  have  to  go  down  with 
two  or  three  men  to  Richmond.  We  are  to 
dine  at  the  Star  and  Garter,  and  afterward  Philip 


198  A    YOUXG  MUTINEER. 

Danvers  has  asked  me  to  go  home  with  him. 
The  Danvers  are  charming  people — have  a  beau 
tiful  house  on  the  river,  and  everything  in  the 
best  possible  style.  I  should  rather  like  to  cul 
tivate  them.  It  is  never  a  good  plan  to  throw 
over  friends  who  may  be  influential;  still,  if  you 
really  wish  it,  Hilda,  I'll  come  home  to-night 
and  make  some  sort  of  excuse  to  Danvers — wire 
to  him  that  I  am  ill,  or  something  of  the  kind. 
Of  course  it  is  too  late  for  me  to  get  tickets  for 
the  play,  but  if  you  would  like  me  to  stay  at 
home,  I'll— I'll  do  it— so  there!  " 

Hilda's  face,  which  had  been  white,  was  now 
flushed. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  morning?  "  she 
said.  "  Why  did  you  forget?  I  spent  a  day  of 

hope,  and  now — now "  Her  eyes  rilled 

with  sudden  tears,  she  bit  her  lips  and  turned 
away. 

Her  action,  which  seemed  almost  pettish, 
annoyed  Quentyns. 

"  You  needn't  cry,"  he  said.  "  I  never  sup 
posed  you  could  be  so  childish.  Do  you  think 
I  forgot  on  purpose?  I  was  looking  forward  to 
my  time  at  Richmond,  but  it  slipped  my  mem 
ory  that  this  was  the  day.  You  needn't  cry, 
however,  for  if  you  have  suddenly  taken  such  a 
frantic  desire  for  my  society,  it  is  at  your  serv- 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  AND  A  LITTLE  CROt>S       199 

ice.  I  shall  go  out  and  wire  to  Danvers,  and  be 
back  again  in  half  an  hour." 

After  all,  Mrs.  Quentyns  had  plenty  of  self- 
control.  The  annoyance  and  distress  in  her 
voice  had  altogether  left  it  when  she  spoke 
again. 

"  Of  course  you  must  go,  Jasper,"  she  said. 
"  You  don't  suppose  for  a  quarter  of  an  instant 
that  I  should  stand  in  your  way.  Let  me  go  up 
with  you  and  help  you  to  put  the  things  you 
want  into  a  bag,  and  you  will  want  some  tea  be 
fore  you  start.  I'll  ring  and  tell  Susan  to  pre 
pare  it.  Now  come  along,  dear;  I'm  glad  of 
course  that  you  are  having  this  pleasure." 

As  Hilda  ran  upstairs  her  manner  was  once 
more  quite  cheerful.  Quentyns,  however,  whose 
conscience  was  smiting  him,  although  he  didn't 
know  it,  could  not  help  acting  more  or  less  like 
a  bear  with  a  sore  head. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  accepted  the  invitation," 
he  said,  "  upon  my  word  I  shouldn't,  did  I  not 
know  that  you  would  have  Judy  to  keep  you 
company.  You  know  I  haven't  that  passion  for 
children  you  have,  and ' 

The  door  was  closed  behind  the  two. 

"  Don't  say  any  more,"  said  Hilda,  in  a  fright 
ened  sort  of  voice.  "  I  told  you  I  was  glad  that 
you  were  to  have  the  pleasure.  Now  which  bag 


200  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

will  you  take?  Will  the  small  Gladstone  be 
large  enough?  " 

Ten  minutes  later  Quentyns  had  left  the  house 
in  a  hansom,  and  Hilda  went  up  to  Judy's 
room. 

"  Come  downstairs,  darling,"  she  said,  "  we 
are  to  have  another  long  evening  all  to  our 
selves.  What  a  good  thing  I've  got  my  sweet 
little  sister  to  stay  at  home  with  me.  Judy,  this 
was  to  be  a  festive  night,  and  I  had  quite  a  fes 
tive  dinner  prepared.  Suppose  we  keep  the 
occasion,  although  we  are  only  to  be  by  our 
selves.  You  shall  dine  with  me  to-night,  Judy, 
and  we'll  both  dress  for  dinner.  You  shall  wear 
white,  for  you  look  so  sweet  in  white,  and  I'll  do 
the  same." 

"  Have  you  got  the  old  India  muslin  dress 
that  you  used  to  wear  at  the  Rectory  before — 
before  there  was  a  Jasper?  "  said  Judy,  in  a 
queer,  steady  kind  of  little  voice.  "  If  you  have 
that  old  India  muslin  that  father  loved  and  Aunt 
Marjorie  loved,  and  that  Babs  and  I  used  always 
to  say  you  looked  like  an  angel  in,  will  you  put  it 
on  to-night,  Hilda? — will  you  wear  that  dress 
once  again?" 

"What  a  queer  thing!"  replied  Hilda.  "I 
neve  threw  the  old  muslin  away.  I  think  I  can 
poke  it  out  of  some  depths  somewhere;  and  it  is 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  AND  A  LITTLE  CROSS.      201 

so  soft  that,  if  I  shake  it  out  and  hang  it  up  for 
about  half  an  hour,  it  will  be  quite  presentable. 
Yon  funny  Judy,  why  do  you  wish  to  see  me  in 
that  dress?" 

'  You  were  all  mine  when  you  wore  that  dress 
last,"  said  Judy. 

"  I  am  always  yours,  my  dearest.  But  don't 
let  us  talk  sentiment;  let  us  make  ourselves 
smart,  and  let  us  come  downstairs  and  be  happy. 
We'll  imagine  that  we  are  at  a  very  gay  party; 
heaps  and  heaps  of  other  people  in  the  room,  but 
we  two,  as  is  sometimes  the  case,  are  more  or  less 
alone  in  the  crowd.  We  are  so  completely  one 
that  other  people  scarcely  affect  us.  We  can 
talk  together,  and  whisper  old  secrets  about  the 
garden,  and  Babs,  and  the  animals,  and  the 
organ  in  the  church,  and  the  funny  chorister-boy 
who  would  never  sing  in  tune;  we  can  talk  of  all 
these  things,  although  there  are  throngs  and 
throngs  around  us,  for  in  a  crowd  those  who 
love  each  other  often  find  the  best  sort  of  soli 
tude.  Come  down,  Judy,  come  down,  and  let's 
be  happy!  " 

"  How  flushed  you  are,  Hilda;  are  you  well?  " 

"  Yes;  I  never  felt  better." 

'You  look  awfully  pretty;  you  look  quite 
lovely." 

"What  a  dear  little  flatterer  you  are!     Does 


202  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

it  really  matter  whether  I  look  pretty  or  not? 
Aunt  Marjorie  would  scold  you,  child,  for  prais 
ing  my  looks  to  my  face;  she  would  say  you  were 
encouraging  vanity." 

"  And  I  should  tell  her  to  her  face  that  I  \vas 
not,"  answered  Judy  stoutly.  "  It's  right  to 
look  beautiful;  it's  copying  the  flowers.  Now 
run  and  put  on  your  India  muslin  dress, 
Hilda." 

Hilda  left  the  room,  and  half  an  hour  later  the 
two  sisters  met  in  the  little  drawing  room. 
There  were  fresh  flowers  in  the  vases;  and  a  great 
bowl  of  primroses,  which  Aunt  Marjorie  had 
sent  from  the  Rectory,  was  placed  on  the  little 
table  in  the  square  bay-window. 

Judy  in  her  white  dress  stood  near  the  flowers. 
She  took  up  one,  and  in  an  absent  sort  of  fashion 
pulled  it  to  pieces.  Susan  announced  dinner, 
and  the  sisters  dined  together  in  great  state,  and 
with  apparent  enjoyment.  Hilda  joked  about 
everything,  and  Judy,  catching  up  her  spirit,  did 
likewise. 

"  Let  us  imagine,  just  for  to-night,  that  I  am 
grown-up,"  she  said;  "  treat  me  as  if  I  were  your 
grown  sister — not  your  little  sister — Hilda." 

Hilda  felt  in  the  humor  to  comply  with  any 
request  Judy  made. 

"  We  will   have   our  coffee   in   the   drawing 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  AND  A  LITTLE  CROSS.      203 

room,"  she  said.  "  Black  coffee  for  me,  please, 
Susan,  but  bring  in  a  little  jug  of  cream  for  Miss 
Judy's.  Now,  dearest,"  turning  to  the  child, 
"  don't  forget  that  the  play  is  going  on;  we  have 
dined  out  with  numbers,  oh,  numbers  of  guests, 
and  now  we  are  in  the  large  assembly-room, 
alone  in  the  crowd,  happy  because  we  are 
together." 

Judy  had  thrown  herself  back  into  a  deep  arm 
chair  in  the  little  drawing  room  while  Hilda  was 
speaking;  her  eyes  had  a  sort  of  starry  radiance 
about  them,  her  cheeks  were  slightly  flushed, 
her  cloudy  soft  brown  hair  was  thrown  back 
from  her  white  brow. 

Hilda  moved  about  the  room;  she  was  restless 
notwithstanding  the  enforced  calm  she  was  put 
ting  upon  herself.  Judy  smiled  when  Hilda 
spoke,  but  in  her  heart  certain  words  kept  re 
peating  themselves — they  had  repeated  them 
selves  like  a  sort  of  mournful  echo  in  that  poor 
little  heart  all  day. 

"  All  the  moments  you  are  away  from  me  are 
long  and  wearisome,"  Hilda  had  said  to  her  hus 
band.  "  All  the  moments." 

And  then  he  had  said  to  her: 

"  You  don't  find  three  trumpery.  I  wish  I 
didn't!" 

"  So  I'm  the  trumpery,"  thought  Judy  to  her- 


204  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

self.  "  I'm  three.  And  all  the  moments  while 
Hilda  is  away  from  Jasper  are  long  and  weari 
some.  Poor  Hilda!  poor  darling!  how  well  she 
hid  it  all  from  me;  how  good,  how  very  good  she 
has  been  to  me;  but  I'm  glad  I  know.  It  was  a 
lucky,  a  very  lucky  thing  that  the  door  of  the 
breakfast  room  was  left  slightly  open  thi.s 
morning,  and  so  I  was  able  to  hear  Jasper's 
words." 

"  How  silent  you  are,  dearest,"  said  Hilda, 
looking  at  the  child. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Judy,  jumping  up. 
"  I  was  thinking." 

"  Think  aloud  then,  sweet.  Let  me  share 
your  pretty  thoughts." 

"  But  they  are  not  pretty,  Hilda;  and  I  think 
I'd  rather  no  one  shared  them.  Now  let  us  talk 
about  old  times — about  the  dear  old  times  be 
fore  there  was  a  Jasper." 

"  Judy,"  said  Hilda,  "  there  is  just  one  thing 
I  should  like  to  say  to  you.  Even  if  it  gives 
you  pain,  I  ought  to  remind  you,  my  darling, 
that  Jasper  is  my  husband;  that  I  love  him.  Oh! 
Judy,  Judy,  my  heart  aches  with  love  to  him. 
My  heart  aches  because  I  love  my  husband  so 
much." 

Judy  clenched  her  hands;  a  great  wave  of 
crimson  swept  over  her  face.  Hilda  had  hidden 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  AND  A  LITTLE  CROSS.      205 

her  own  face  in  her  hands,  and  did  not  notice 

the  child's  agitation.  Presently  the  little  sister's 
hand  softly  touched  her  forehead. 

"  And  you're  lonely  to-night,  poor  Hilda,  be 
cause  your  Jasper  is  away?  " 

"  Yes,  Judy,  it's  true.  I'm  afraid  even  to  tell 
you  how  lonely  I  am." 

"  And  you've  been  trying  to  seem  cheerful, 
just  to  please  me." 

"  And  to  please  myself  too,"  said  Hilda,  start 
ing  up  and  wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes. 
"  There,  we  won't  talk  about  it  any  more;  we'll 
go  on  pretending  that  we  are  having  an  awfully 
jolly  time." 

"  You're  very  brave,  Hilda,"  said  Judy;  "  and 
when  people  are  brave,  things  generally  come 
right.  Now,  may  I  sit  on  your  knee,  just  as  if  I 
were  a  baby  instead  of  a  tall  girl  with  long  legs? 
/  wouldn't  make  you  unhappy,  Hilda  darling. 
When  there's  an  inevitable  I  must  face  it ;  I  must, 
and  you  will  see  that  I  will.  Jack  the  Giant 
Killer  shan't  beat  me  over  difficulties  when  I've 
made  up  my  mind." 

"  Judy,  your  face  is  flushed,  and  your  eyes  are 
too  bright;  that  strong  coffee  was  bad  for  you, 
you  won't  sleep  to-night." 

"  I  dare  say  I  shan't  sleep;  but  now  let  us  talk 
of  old  times." 


206  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  Only  for  a  few  moments,  dear;  you  look  so 
excited  that  I  shall  not  rest  until  I  see  you  safely 
in  bed." 

Judy  laughed,  and  declared  stoutly  that  she 
never  felt  better. 

Half  an  hour  afterward  she  went  up  to  her 
pretty  little  bedroom,  Hilda  promising  to  follow 
her  in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  if  she  possibly 
could. 

When  the  elder  sister  entered  the  room,  she 
found  Judy  standing  by  her  bed  in  her  frilled 
night-dress. 

"  You  will  get  cold,  love — do  get  into  bed," 
said  Hilda. 

"I  want  to  say  my  prayers  to  you,  Hilda,  if 
you  don't  mind,"  said  Judy,  "  just  as  I  used 
when  I  was  a  very  little  girl." 

"  Of  course,  darling,  if  you  wish  it." 

Hilda  sat  down,  and  the  little  sister  knelt  at 
her  knee. 

The  old  baby  prayers  were  said  aloud;  but 
suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  them,  Judy  bent  her 
head  and  murmured  something  which  Hilda 
could  not  hear. 

She  jumped  up  a  moment  later  and  put  her 
arms  round  her  sister's  neck. 

"  You  won't  be  lonely  long,  Hilda,"  she  said. 
"  It  will  be  all  right;  you'll  see  it  will  be  as  right 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  AND  A  LITTLE  CROSS.      207 

as  possible.  I  am  glad  you  are  fond  of  Jasper. 
I  am  really,  really,  awfully  glad." 

"  Good-night,  my  darling,"  said  Hilda,  kiss 
ing  her.  She  went  out  of  the  room  with  tears 
in  her  eyes. 

"  Poor  little  Judy,  how  little  she  knows," 
thought  the  elder  sister;  "  how  very  little  she 
knows  what  a  cloud  there  is  between  Jasper  and 
me.  Oh,  if  it  goes  on  much  longer,  I  think  my 
heart  will  break!  " 

In  the  meantime,  in  her  pretty  white  bed, 
Judy  was  murmuring  an  old  text  to  herself: 

"  He  that  taketh  not  up  his  cross  and  fol- 
loweth  after  Me,  cannot  be  My  disciple." 

Once,  long  ago,  the  Rector  had  explained  this 
text,  or  rather  given  a  shadow  of  its  meaning  to 
the  child. 

"  Followeth  after  Me,"  she  murmured;  and  a 
vision  came  to  her  of  One  who,  in  the  great 
cause  of  Love,  had  taken  up  His  cross,  even  to 
death. 

She  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  fell 
asleep. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
JUDY'S   SECRET. 

Be  strong  to  hope,  oh,  Heart  ! 

Though  day  is  bright, 
The  stars  can  only  shine 

In  the  dark  night. 
Be  strong,  oh,  Heart  of  mine, 

Look  towards  the  light ! 

— ADELAIDE  PROCTOR. 

The  next  morning  Judy  was  down  specially 
early  to  breakfast. 

Her  cheeks  were  slightly  more  flushed  than 
usual,  and  her  eyes,  to  anyone  who  watched 
them  closely,  had  a  determined,  almost  hard, 
expression  in  them.  Hilda,  however,  was  too 
much  occupied  with  her  own  sad  thoughts  to 
take  any  special  notice  of  the  child. 

"  You  look  well,  Judy,"  she  said,  giving  a 
quick  glance  at  her.  "  Now  come  to  breakfast, 
dear,  I've  a  good  deal  to  do  afterward." 

"  Are  you  going  out,  Hilda?  "  asked  Judy. 

"  No,  I'm  going  to  be  busy  all  the  morning 
over  my  accounts;  they've  got  into  the  most  dis 
graceful  muddle,  and  I  want  to  put  them 

ao8 


JUDY'S  SECRET.  209 

straight.  I  shall  be  in  the  drawing  room,  for  I 
keep  all  my  household  books  in  the  davenport 
there.  I  mean  to  give  you  a  holiday,  Judy,  but 
perhaps  you  won't  mind  reading  some  of  your 
history  to  yourself,  and  doing  a  few  sums  this 
morning." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Judy  brightly.  "  Shall 
I  make  you  some  toast,  Hilda?  This  in  the  toast- 
rack  is  so  soft  and  flabby — do  let  me,  Hilda." 

"  If  you  like,  dear,  you  may.  It  is  lucky  there 
is  a  fire,  but  I  must  tell  cook  to  discontinue 
them,  the  weather  is  getting  so  warm." 

Judy  was  an  adept  at  making  toast,  and  it  was 
an  old  fashion  at  the  Rectory  that  Hilda's  toast 
should  be  made  by  her,  on  those  blissful  red- 
letter  days  when  the  elder  sister  had  tea  with  the 
little  ones  in  the  nursery. 

Judy  wondered  as  she  delicately  browned  that 
toast,  and  scorched  her  own  little  cheeks,  if 
Hilda  would  remember  the  old  days,  and  the 
toast  which  she  used  to  make  her;  but  Mrs. 
Quentyns  seemed  to  be  in  a  sort  of  brown  study 
that  morning,  and  thanked  the  child  absently 
when  the  crisp  hot  toast  was  put  on  her  plate. 

"  Jasper  will  be  home  quite  early  to-day,  won't 
he,  Hilda?  "  inquired  Judy. 

"  I  don't  know,  Judy — yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"  I'm  sure  he'll  be  home  early,"  repeated  Judy 


210  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

with  confidence;  "  perhaps  he'll  take  you  to  the 
play  to-night,  and  perhaps  you'll  be  awfully 
happy." 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  about  it,  Judy,"  said  Hilda, 
in  a  weary  voice;  "  we  must  all  make  up  our 
minds  to  face  the  fact  that  there's  a  great  deal 
more  than  mere  happiness  in  the  world.  What 
is  happiness?  It's  only  a  small  part  of  life." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  going  to  be  a  small  part  of 
your  life,  Hilda;  but  now  I'm  not  going  to  idle 
you  any  more,  for  you  want  to  get  to  your  ac 
counts." 

Judy  ran  out  of  the  room.  As  she  was  going 
slowly  upstairs,  she  paused  once  to  say  softly  to 
herself: 

"  It's  all  happening  beautifully;  I  ought  to  be 
glad.  Of  course  I  am  glad.  '  He  that  taketh  not 
up  his  cross.'  I'm  glad  that  text  keeps  running 
in  my  head,  it  makes  me  so  nice  and  strong." 

Susan  was  doing  out  Judy's  room  when  the 
little  girl  ran  into  it.  Judy  was  fond  of  Susan, 
and  Susan  of  her,  and  the  girl  stopped  her  work 
now  to  listen  to  the  child's  eager  words. 

"  Susan,  do  you  think  Mrs.  Quentyns  would 
let  you  come  out  with  me  for  a  little  this  morn 
ing,  for  about  an  hour  or  an  hour  and  a  half?  " 

"  Well,  miss,"  said  Susan,  "  it  aint  Monday, 
which  is  the  day  to  get  ready  for  the  laundry, 


JUDY'S  SECRET.  21 1 

nor  yet  Wednesday,  when  I  turns  out  the  draw 
ing  room,  nor  Friday,  which  is  silver  day — 
there's  nothing  special  for  Thursday;  I  should 
think  I  could  go  with  you,  Miss  Judy,  and  it  will 
be  a  treat  to  take  you  about.  Is  it  Mme.  Tus- 
saud's  you  has  a  hankerin'  for,  Miss?  " 

"  No,  no,  Susan,  I'm  not  going  to  any  exhibi 
tion;  it's  a  secret — I'll  tell  you  when  we're 
out." 

"  The  Dore  Gallery,  perhaps? "  suggested 
Susan. 

"  No,  it's  nothing  of  that  sort;  I'll  tell  you 
when  we're  out." 

"  Very  well,  miss,  I'm  proud  to  be  at  your 
service  whatever  it  is." 

"  I'll  run  down  now  and  ask  my  sister  if  you 
may  come  with  me,  Susan." 

Judy  threw  her  arms  round  Hilda  as  she  was 
coming  up  from  the  kitchen  premises. 

"  Hilda,  the  clay  is  so  fine!  " 

"  No,  Judy,  you  mustn't  tempt  me  to  go  out. 
I  really  have  to  get  those  accounts  straight,  they 
quite  weigh  on  my  mind." 

"  So  you  shall,  Hilda  darling;  but  I  was  won 
dering  if  after  I've  read  my  history  and  done  my 
sums,  and  a  little  bit  of  writing  I  want  to  get 
through,  if  you'd  let  Susan — if  you'd  let  Susan 
take  me  out." 


212  A     YOUXG  MUTINEER. 

"  Susan!  "  repeated  Hilda,  "  but  I  can  go  with 
you  myself  this  afternoon." 

"  I  know,  only  I  do  so  want  a  run  on  this  fine 
morning,  and  Susan  says  it's  not  laundry  day, 
nor  drawing-room  day,  nor  silver  day;  it's  Thurs 
day,  which  is  nothing  special;  she  can  come,  may 
she,  Hilda? — do  say  yes." 

"'  It's  not  like  you,  Judy,"  said  Hilda,  "  to  be 
in  this  impatient  state.  I  would  rather  you  did 
not  propose  plans  to  the  servants  without  first 
consulting  me,  darling,  it  rather  puts  them  out 
of  their  place;  but  as  you  have  done  it,  and  as 
you  are  the  best  of  dear  little  girls,  I  suppose  I 
must  say  '  yes '  on  this  occasion.  If  Susan 
hurries  with  her  work,  she  may  take  you  out: 
but  of  course  you  won't  be  very  long,  will  you?  " 

To  this  question  Judy  made  no  reply.  She 
gave  Hilda  a  tight  clasp  and  a  fierce  kiss,  and 
rushed  away. 

"  Susan,  you're  to  hurry  with  your  work,  for 
you  may  come,"  she  shouted,  almost  boister 
ously,  to  the  parlor-maH,  and  then  she  ran  down 
to  the  dining  room  and  shut  the  door  behind  her. 

"It's  happening  beautifully,"  she  murmured 
again;  "how  lucky  that  I  never  spent  god 
mother's  sovereign.  And  now  to  write  my  let 
ter  to  Hilda.  I'm  not  going  to  waste  my  time 
crying,  there'll  be  time  enough  for  that  by  and 


JUDY'S  SECRET.  213 

by — that's  if  I  want  to  cry,  perhaps  I  shan't. 
When  I  think  of  how  very  happy  Hilda  will  be, 
perhaps  my  heart  will  sing.  But  now  for  the 
letter — Hilda  mustn't  find  it  too  soon;  I'll  put  it 
under  her  pin-cushion,  then  perhaps  she  won't 
see  it  for  some  hours  after  I've  gone,  but  now  I 
must  write  it." 

Judy  took  out  her  own  little  blotting-book, 
placed  a  sheet  of  paper  before  her,  and  began 
laboriously,  with  little  fingers  which  rapidly  got 
ink-stained,  to  put  a  few  words  on  the  paper. 

"  DARLING  HILDA, 

"  You'll  be  s'prised  when  you  get  this.  I'm 
going  home.  I'm  quite  well  now,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  fret,  but  I'm  going  to  be  really  happy. 
Good-by,  Hilda;  I  love  you  awfully. 

"  Your 

"  JUDY." 

This  little  note  was  put  into  an  envelope,  and 
sealed  with  some  precious  red  wax,  and  before 
she  left  the  house  Judy  found  an  opportunity  to 
put  it  under  Hilda's  pin-cushion. 

"  It  doesn't  tell  her  a  bit  what  I  think,  nor 
what  I  feel,"  murmured  the  poor  child.  "  But 
it's  best  for  her  just  to  suppose  that  I  want  to  go 
home.  She'll  be  happy  all  the  sooner  if  she 
thinks  that." 


214  A     YOUXG  MUTINEER. 

Susan  was  rather  elated  at  escaping  house 
work,  and  at  being  allowed  to  go  out  so  earlv  in 
the  morning.  She  was  especially  fond  of  Judy, 
and  would  do  anything  in  the  world  for  her. 
Now,  therefore,  principal!}-  on  Judy's  account, 
but  also  in  the  hope  that  the  baker  might  happen, 
to  see  her  as  she  passed  his  shop,  she  put  on  her 
very  smartest  hat  and  her  very  best  jacket,  and 
patiently  waited  in  the  front  hall  for  Judy's 
appearance. 

Hilda  came  out  of  the  drawing  room  to  see 
the  two  as  they  went  off. 

'  You  had  better  take  an  omnibus,  and  get 
out  at  Kensington  Gardens,"  she  said  to  the 
maid.  "  I  shall  expect  you  back  in  time  to  get 
lunch  ready,  Susan.  Judy  pet,  give  me  a  kiss 
before  you  go." 

Judy  had  lost  her  roses  now,  her  face  was  pale, 
and  there  were  dark  shadows  under  her  big 
eyes.  Her  little  voice,  however,  had  a  very 
stout,  determined  tone  about  it. 

"  Good-by,  Hilda,"  she  said;  "  one  kiss — two, 
three  kisses,  Hilda;  it  is  good  of  you  to  let  us 
out, — and  we  are  going  to  be  so  jolly.  Good- 
by,  darling  Hilda." 

"  Good-by,  Judy,"  said  Hilda. 

She  kissed  the  child,  but  in  a  pre-occupied 
manner — the  cloud  which  weighed  on  her  heart 


JUDY'S  SECRET.  215 

was  oppressing  her,  and  dulling  her  usually  keen 
perceptions  where  Judy  was  concerned. 

"  It's  all  the  better,"  thought  the  little  girl, 
"  it's  easier  to  say  good-by  when  she's  not  extra 
loving." 

Hilda  went  back  to  her  accounts,  and  Judy 
and  Susan  walked  down  the  terrace,  and  turn 
ing  the  corner  were  lost  to  view. 

They  had  gone  on  a  little  way,  and  Susan  was 
about  to  hail  a  passing  omnibus,  when  Judy  sud 
denly  put  her  hand  on  the  servant's  arm. 

"  Susan,"  she  said,  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
the  secret  now.  You'll  be  sure  to  keep 
it?  " 

"  Well,  of  course,  miss,  I'll  do  my  best — I 
hope  I  aint  one  of  the  blabbing  sort." 

"  I  don't  think  you  are,  Susan — you  look  as  if 
a  person  could  trust  you.  I'm  going  to  trust 
yon  with  a  most  important  thing." 

"  Very  well,  miss — I'll  be  proud  I'm  sure;  but 
hadn't  we  better  stop  that  'bus — there's  the  con 
ductor  looking  at  us." 

"  Does  that  'bus  go  in  the  direction  of  Water 
loo  Station?  "  asked  Judy. 

"  Waterloo — bless  you,  Miss  Judy — I  don't 
know  whether  it  do  or  not.  I  don't  s'pose  so 
for  a  quarter  of  a  minute.  Waterloo  is  miles 
from  here — that  I  do  know.  But  it's  nothing 


*l6  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

to  us  where  Waterloo  is,  miss,  it's  to  Kensing 
ton  Gardens  we're  going,  and  the  'bus  has  gone 
on  now,  so  there's  no  good  our  worrying  our 
selves  about  it.  Another  will  pass  us  in  a  min 
ute.  There  are  plenty  half  empty  at  this  hour 
of  the  day." 

"  I  wish  you  would  stop  talking,  Susan,  and 
let  me  explain  what  I  mean,"  said  Judy,  almost 
fretfully.  "  It's  to  Waterloo  I  want  to  go,  not 
to  Kensington  Gardens.  Do  you  hear  me — do 
you  understand  what  I'm  saying?  " 

"  I  suppose  you're  joking  me,  Miss  Judy. 
My  missis  said  we  were  to  go  to  Kensington 
Gardens." 

"  Please,  Susan,  stop  for  a  minute.  I  want  to 
say  something  very  important.  7  am  going 
home.  That's  the  secret.  I  am  going  home  to 
Aunt  Marjorie  and  to  father,  and  my  little  sister 
Babs,  and  the  way  home  is  by  Waterloo,  so  I 
must  get  there.  Now  do  you  understand? 
That's  the  secret — I  am  going  home  to-day." 

Judy's  face  was  so  pale,  and  her  words  so  in 
tensely  earnest,  that  Susan  saw  at  last  that  the 
secret  was  no  joking  matter,  but  something  real 
and  hard  to  bear. 

"  Now  I  wonder  what  the  little  dear  is  up  to," 
she  said  under  her  breath. 

"  You   know,    Miss  Judy,   pet,"   she   replied 


JUDY'S  SECRET.  217 

aloud  in  as  soothing  a  voice  as  she  could  com 
mand,  "  that  you  don't  really  mean  to  run  away 
like  that, — for  it  is  running-  away  to  go  back  to 
your  home,  and  never  say  a  word  to  Mrs.  Quen- 
tyns,  and  she  .so  wrapped  up  in  you,  and  your 
room  furnished  so  prettily  and  all." 

Judy  had  to  gulp  down  a  sob  before  she  an 
swered  Susan. 

"  I  didn't  expect  you  to  understand  me,"  she 
said  with  a  dignity  which  made  a  deep  impres 
sion  on  the  maid.  "  I'm  not  running  away,  and 
I'm  doing  right  not  wrong.  You  don't  sup 
pose  it's  always  very  pleasant  to  do  right,  but 
sometimes  one  can't  think  about  what's  pleas 
ant.  I  wouldn't  have  asked  you  to  help  me  at 
all,  Susan,  but  I  don't  know  how  to  get  to 
Waterloo  Station.  Of  course  I  came  from  there 
with  my  sister,  but  I  didn't  notice  the  road  we 
took,  nor  anything  about  it.  I  know  we  were 
a  long  time  in  a  cab,  so  I  suppose  the  station  is 
a  good  way  from  Philippa  Terrace.  What  you 
have  got  to  do  now,  Susan,  is  to  obey  me,  and 
not  to  ask  any  questions.  I  really  know  what 
I'm  about,  and  I  promise  that  you  shan't  get 
into  any  trouble." 

But  to  Judy's  surprise  Susan  was  firm. 

"  I  won't  have  hand  nor  part  in  the  matter," 
she  said;  "  I  was  told  to  take  you  to  Kensington 


2l8  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Gardens,  miss,  and  it's  there  we've  got  to  go, 
or  we'll  turn  round  and  go  back  to  Philippa 
Terrace." 

For  a  moment  or  two  Judy  felt  afraid  that  all 
her  plans  were  in  jeopardy.  She  might  of  course 
call  a  cab  on  her  own  account,  and  trust  the 
driver  to  take  her  safely  to  her  destination;  but 
brave  as  she  was,  she  had  scarcely  courage  for 
this  extreme  step;  besides,  the  driver  of  the  han 
som  might  take  it  into  his  head  to  listen  to 
Susan's  strong  objections,  and  even  if  he  did 
obpy  Judy,  Susan  would  go  back  to  Philippa 
Terrace,  and  tell  Hilda  everything,  and  then 
Hilda  would  follow  Judy  to  Waterloo,  and  pre 
vent  her  going  home  at  all. 

The  strongest  feeling  in  the  child's  mind  was 
a  desire  to  be  safe  back  in  the  Rectory  before 
Hilda  knew  anything  about  her  determina 
tion. 

"  Then  she  can't  do  anything,"  thought  Judy. 
"  She'll  have  nothing  for  it  but  to  make  herself 
quite  happy  with  Jasper  again." 

Suddenly  an  idea  came  to  her. 

"  I  won't  argue  with  you  any  more,  Susan," 
she  said.  "  I  suppose  you  think  you  are  doing 
right,  and  if  you  do,  of  course  I  can't  expect  you 
to  act  in  any  other  way.  If  you  knew  every 
thing  that  is  in  my  heart,  I  am  quite  sure  you 


JUDY'S   SECRET.  2ig 

would  help  me;  but  as  you  don't,  I  must  think  of 
something  else.  You  know  Mr.  Rivers,  don't 
you — the  gentleman  who  dined  at  Philippa  Ter 
race  two  nights  ago?  " 

"  Yes,  miss,  of  course." 

"  My  sister  and  I  took  lunch  with  him  yester 
day,"  continued  Judy.  "  He  is  a  very  nice  gen 
tleman;  he's  a  great  friend  of  Mr.  Quentyns." 

"  Oh,  yes,  miss,  I'm  aware,"  replied  the  maid. 

"  He  lives  in  chambers,"  continued  Judy.  "  I 
don't  in  the  least  know  what  chambers  means; 
but  he  asked  me  to  go  and  see  him  some  day  and 
have  lunch  with  him.  He  wrote  his  address  on 
a  piece  of  paper  and  gave  it  to  me,  and  I  have  it 
in  my  purse.  My  sister  said  I  might  certainly 
lunch  with  Mr.  Rivers.  Now,  Susan,  I  intend 
to  go  to  him  to-day.  So  please  call  a  hansom,, 
and  I  shall  drive  there  at  once.  You  can  come 
or  not  as  you  please.  If  you  prefer  it  you  can 
go  home;  but  of  course  I'd  rather  you  came  with 
me." 

Susan  deliberated.  Certainly  Miss  Judy  was 
in  a  very  queer  condition,  and  it  would  be  as 
much  as  her  place  was  worth  to  take  her  to 
Waterloo;  but  to  drive  with  her  to  the  chambers 
of  that  nice  gentleman  who  was,  she  knew,  one 
of  her  master's  greatest  friends,  seemed  a  shift- 


220  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

ing  of  responsibility  which  was  quite  a  way  out 
of  the  dilemma,  for  not  for  worlds  would  Susan 
do  anything  really  to  hurt  the  child's  feelings. 

"All  right,  miss,"  she  said  after  a  pause; 
"  even  that  seems  queer  enough,  but  Mr.  Rivers 
can  explain  matters  himself  to  my  missis.  Here's 
a  nice  'ansom  with  a  steady  horse.  Stop,  driver, 
please,  stop!  Draw  up  here  by  the  lamp-post. 
Now,  miss,  shall  I  get  in  first  and  give  you  a 
hand?" 

"  No,  Susan;  I  can  get  into  a  hansom  without 
anyone  helping  me." 

"  Drive  to  No.  10  Johnson's  Court,  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields,"  said  Judy,  in  a  clear  voice  to  the 
man;  and  then  she  and  Susan  found  themselves 
bowling  away  farther  and  farther  from  West 
Kensington,  from  Judy's  pretty  bedroom,  from 
Hilda  and  her  love. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  they  ar 
rived  at  their  destination;  the  driver  pulled  up 
his  horse  at  No.  10  Johnson's  Court,  with  an 
esprit  which  Judy  would  have  much  admired  had 
her  thoughts  been  less  pre-occupied. 

She  jumped  out  with  alacrity,  declining 
Susan's  assistance,  and  asked  the  man  what  his 
fare  was.  He  named  a  sum  which  Susan  took 
into  her  head  to  consider  exorbitant,  and  which 
she  loudly  objected  to  Judy's  paying;  but  the 


JUDY'S  SECRET.  221 

little  girl  gave  it  without  a  moment's  hesitation, 
and  the  next  instant  was  running  up  the  stairs 
to  Rivers'  chambers. 

What  might  have  happened  had  that  gentle 
man  been  out  no  one  can  say;  Judy's  heroic 
impulse  might  after  all  have  come  to  nothing, 
and  Jasper  might  still  have  had  to  complain  of 
that  three,  which  means  trumpery,  invading  his 
house;  but  it  so  happened  that  Rivers  was  in, 
and,  busy  man  that  he  was,  comparatively  disen 
gaged.  When  Judy  inquired  for  him  he  was 
standing  in  his  clerk's  room,  giving  some  direc 
tions.  At  the  sound  of  her  voice  he  looked  up, 
and  with  a  start  and  smile  of  delight  came  for 
ward  to  welcome  her. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said;  "  how 
kind  of  you  to  remember  your  promise." 

Then,  seeing  by  her  face  that  Judy's  poor  little 
heart  was  very  full,  he  took  her  into  his  private 
room,  and  desired  Susan  to  wait  in  the  clerk's 
room. 

"Now,  Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  what  is  it?'* 
said  Rivers;  "  what's  the  matter?  " 

"  I  told  you,"  said  Judy;  "  I  told  you  yester 
day,  that  perhaps  I  was  going  to  stop  being  a 
mutineer.  Well,  I  have  stopped.  I  thought 
you'd  like  to  know." 

"  So  I  do,  Judy,"  said  Rivers.     "  I  am  proud 


222  A     YOUNG   MUTINEER. 

to  be  acquainted  with  a  little  girl  who  has  such 
immense  control  over  herself.  I  should  like  to 
hear  how  you  have  contrived  to  get  out  of  the 
state  of  rebellion  into  the  state  of  submission. 
I  know  of  course  that  you  have  been  killing  a 
giant,  but  I  am  interested  in  the  process." 

"  I'm  killing  the  giant  by  going  home,"  said 
Judy,  standing  very  erect  by  Rivers'  table,  and 
pushing  back  her  shady  hat  from  her  white  fore 
head.  "  I  am  going  home,  back  to  Little  Statin- 
ton  Rectory.  I  see  what  you  mean,  that  it's 
better — better  for  Jasper  and  Hilda,  to  be  with 
out — without  me.  I  pretended  not  to  under 
stand  you  the  other  night,  but  I  don't  pretend 
any  longer  now;  and  yesterday  evening,  when 
Hilda  and  I  were  all  alone,  for  Jasper  had  gone 
away  down  to  Richmond,  I — I  made  up  my 
mind.  Hilda  doesn't  know  anything  about 
it." 

"  Sit  down,  Judy,"  said  Rivers.  "  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  I  respect  you." 

"  I'd  rather  stand,  please,"  said  Judy.  "  Hilda 
doesn't  know,"  she  continued,  "  and  she  mustn't 
know  until  I  am  safe  back  at  Little  Staunton 
Rectory.  Susan — you  know  Susan,  she's  Hilda's 
parlor-maid;  well.  Susan  came  out  with  me  this 
morning,  and  I  coaxed  her  very  hard  to  take  me 
to  Waterloo,  but  she  refused.  I  don't  quite 


JUDY'S  SECRET.  223 

know  how  to  get  there  by  myself,  so  now  I  want 
to  know  if  you  will  take  me?  " 

"  Certainly  I  will,"  said  Rivers.  "  What  is 
more,  I'll  go  with  you  to  the  Rectory.  I  have 
nothing  special  to  do  to-day,  and  it  will  be  quite 
a  pleasure  to  spend  a  little  time  in  your  com 
pany.  Do  you  know  anything  about  the  trains, 
and  what  is  the  name  of  the  station  we  have  to 
•go  to?  " 

Judy  named  the  one  nearest  to  the  Rectory. 

"  You  had  better  sit  down  for  a  moment,'* 
pursued  Rivers.  "  I  have  an  *  A  B  C  '  here,  so 
I  can  tell  you  in  a  moment  which  is  the  best  train 
to  take.  Now,  what  is  the  matter?  " 

"  Only,  Mr.  Rivers,  Hilda  must  not  know  any 
thing — anything  about  it  until  I  am  safe  home. 
Can  this  be  managed?" 

"  I  have  very  little  doubt  that  it  can.  I  shall 
go  out  now  and  speak  to  Susan  and  send  her 
away.  Thank  you,  Judy,  for  coming  to  me;  I 
would  do  anything  for  you,  because  you  are 
brave,  and  I  respect  and  admire  all  brave 
people." 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

GIANT-KILLER. 

And  the  Prince,  seeing  that  it  was  of  no  use  to  remonstrate, 
bowed  and  retired. 

— THE  GOLDEN  BRANCH. 

Susan  came  home  and  told  her  mistress  that 
Judy  was  spending  the  day  with  Mr.  Rivers. 

"  What  an  extraordinary  thing  for  the  child  to 
do!"  said  Hilda. 

"  She  said,  ma'am,  that  Mr.  Rivers  asked  her 
to  lunch,  and  that  you  knew  about  it." 

"  Yes;  but  why  did  she  not  say  something  to 
me  when  she  was  going  out?  It  is  so  unlike 
Miss  Judy  to  keep  a  thing  of  that  sort  to  her 
self." 

Susan  made  no  reply.  She  was  no  longer 
responsible,  and  was  only  too  anxious  not  to 
betray  the  child. 

"  Mr.  Rivers  says  he'll  take  the  best  care  of 
her,  ma'am,"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 

"  Well,  go  and  take  off  your  hat,  Susan,  and 
lay  the  lunch,"  said  Hilda,  feeling  still  more 


GIA  N  T-KILL  ER.  225 

puzzled,  but  not  caring  to  pursue  her  inquiries 

any  further. 

She  had  a  sense  of  aggrievement  and  a  feeling 
of  added  loneliness  as  she  sat  down  to  her  soli 
tary  lunch.  She  missed  Judy,  and  wondered  at 
her  sudden  want  of  confidence;  but  soon  the 
deeper  trouble  which  Jasper's  conduct  had 
caused  returned  to  trouble  her,  and  she  forgot 
her  little  sister  in  the  sadness  of  her  thoughts. 

She  spent  a  long  and  very  lonely  afternoon 
indoors,  for  she  had  not  the  heart  to  go  out,  and 
besides,  she  expected  Judy  home  every  minute. 

She  thought  it  likely  that  Rivers  would  take 
her  somewhere  after  lunch,  but  surely  he  would 
bring  her  back  to  Philippa  Terrace  in  time  for 
tea.  Hilda  ordered  some  cakes  which  she  knew 
were  special  favorites  of  Judy's  to  be  ready  for 
this  meal;  and  then  she  sat  in  her  pretty  little 
drawing  room,  and  tried  to  divert  her  thoughts 
over  the  pages  of  the  latest  novel  which  had  ar 
rived  from  Mudie's. 

It  was  either  not  specially  interesting,  or 
Hilda  found  it  difficult  to  concentrate  her  atten 
tion.  She  flung  the  book  on  her  knee,  and  sat 
absorbed  in  what  Judy  and  Babs  called  a  brown 
study.  She  was  startled  out  of  her  meditations 
by  Susan  bringing  in  the  tea-tray  and  the  little 
kettle  and  spirit-lamp. 


326  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  Did  Mr.  Rivers  say  when  he  would  bring 
Miss  Judy  home?  "  she  asked  of  the  maid. 

Susan  colored  and  hesitated  slightly  in  her 
reply. 

"No,  ma'am;  he  said  nothing  at  all  about 
coming  home,"  she  answered. 

Hilda  noticed  her  hesitation,  but  did  not  wish 
to  question  her  further.  After  the  servant  left 
the  room,  however,  she  began  for  the  first  time 
to  feel  both  impatient  and  uneasy  with  regard  to 
her  little  sister. 

"  If  Judy  is  not  here  by  six  o'clock,"  she  said 
to  herself,  "  I  will  go  to  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  in 
search  of  her.  How  extraordinarily  impatient 
she  was  to  go  out  this  morning;  and  how  very 
odd  of  her  to  insist  on  going  to  Mr.  Rivers',  and 
to  say  nothing  at  all  to  me  about  it;  and  then 
how  queer — how  more  than  queer — her  not  hav 
ing  yet  returned.  My  sweet  little  Judy,  the 
most  thoughtful  child  who  ever  breathed — it  is 
unlike  her  to  cause  me  anxiety  of  this  sort." 

Hilda  did  not  care  for  the  social  little  meal 
which  was  generally  so  lively  when  Judy  was 
present.  Immediately  afterward  she  ran  up 
stairs  to  put  on  her  bonnet  and  jacket;  and  as 
she  was  going  out,  left  a  message  with  Susan. 

"  If  Miss  Judy  and  Mr.  Rivers  come/'  she  said, 
*'  please  say  that  I  have  gone  to  Lincoln's  Inn 


"  I'D    RATHER    STAND,    PLEASE."       P.   222. 


GIA  N  T-KILLER.  227 

Fields,  as  I  felt  anxious  about  the  child  being 
so  long  away." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  servant. 

"Whistle  for  a  hansom  for  me,  please,  Susan." 

Susan  did  so;  and  half  an  hour  afterward  Hilda 
was  making  inquiries  at  Rivers'  chambers  with 
regard  to  his  whereabouts.  The  clerks  there 
could  give  her  no  definite  information.  Mr. 
Rivers  had  gone  out  with  a  little  lady  soon  after 
twelve  o'clock,  and  had  told  them  not  to  expect 
him  back  that  day. 

"  I  shall  find  Judy  at  Philippa  Terrace  when  I 
go  home,"  thought  Mrs.  Ouentyns.  "  It  was 
thoughtless  of  her  not  to  tell  me  how  long  she 
would  be  out — it  was  wonderfully  unlike  her. 
Still,  of  course,  she  will  be  at  home  now." 

But  when  Hilda  returned  no  Judy  was  there 
to  greet  her;  but  her  husband's  face  was  seen 
looking  somewhat  impatiently  out  at  the  draw 
ing-room  window.  He  came  at  once  to  help 
his  wife  out  of  the  cab,  and  entered  the  house 
with  her. 

"  Where  were  you?  "  he  asked.  "  It  is  nearly 
time  for  dinner." 

"  I  won't  be  a  moment  getting  dressed,  Jas 
per;  but — but — I  am  anxious  about  Judy." 

Quentyns  had  meant  to  be  specially  nice  and 
kind  to  Hilda  after  his  evening's  pleasure,  but 


228  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

he  felt  it  impossible  now  to  keep  the  glib,  sar 
castic  words  back. 

"  I  might  have  known  when  I  saw  that  fret 
ful  look  on  your  face,  that  Judy  was  the  cause. 
Now,  what  is  her  latest  transgression?  " 

"  Oh,  there  is  a  telegraph-boy,"  said  Hilda 
eagerly.  ''  What — what — oh,  is  there  anything 
wrong?  " 

She  rushed  to  the  hall-door  herself,  before 
Jasper  could  prevent  her.  Susan,  coming  into 
the  hall  to  answer  the  imperative  double  knock, 
was  sent  back  to  the  kitchen  regions,  in  a  cross 
voice,  by  her  master. 

"  Really,  Hilda,"  began  Quentyns,  "  your  im 
petuosity  is  most  undignified.  I  must  say  that 

these  kinds  of  scenes  are Now,  what  is  the 

matter,  my  love — tears  again.  A  coming  home 
of  this  sort  is  not  the  most  cheerful  sort  of  thing, 
you  must  allow." 

"  Oh,  Jasper,  Jasper,  I'm  not  even  listening  to 
you,"  said  poor  Hilda.  "  What  can  be  the  mat 
ter?  what  can  be  wrong?  Here's  a  telegram 
from  Mr.  Rivers.  He  says — see  what  he  says. 

"  '  Little  Staunton  Rectory.  Have  brought 
Judy  home.  Will  call  and  see  you  soon  after 
ten  this  evening.  Rivers.' ' 

"  Rivers!  "  repeated  Jasper. 

His  voice  grew  thoughtful;  he  did  not  like 


GIANT-KILLER.  229 

Rivers,  of  all  men,  to  be  mixed  up  in  his  domes 
tic  affairs.  Rivers,  at  least,  must  keep  him  on 
a  pedestal,  and  know  nothing  of  his  weaknesses 
— of  that  infirmity  of  temper  which  he  struggled 
against,  and  yet,  in  Judy's  presence,  could  not 
conquer.  He  forgot  all  about  Judy  herself  in 
his  wonder  as  to  how  Rivers  had  got  mixed  up 
in  the  matter. 

Hilda  had  seated  herself  on  the  sofa,  and  still 
holding  the  open  telegram  in  her  hand,  was  try 
ing  furtively  to  wipe  away  her  fast-falling  tears. 

"  I  wish  you'd  stop  crying,  Hilda,"  said  her 
husband.  "  There's  nothing  to  alarm  you  in 
this  telegram — nothing  whatever.  If  Judy  is 
with  a  man  like  Tom  Rivers,  she's  as  safe  as  child 
can  be." 

"  But  she  has  gone  home,  Jasper;  she  has 
gone  home  to  the  Rectory,  without  even  telling 
me." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  it's  impossible  for  me  to  ex 
plain  away  the  vagaries  of  that  most  eccentric 
child.  I  presume,  however,  that  Rivers  has  a 
key  to  the  mystery,  and  as  he  says  he  will  call 
here  after  ten  o'clock,  we  shall  know  all  about  it 
then.  No  amount  of  discussion  can  explain  it 
in  advance.  So,  Hilda,  perhaps  you  will  go  up 
stairs  and  get  ready  for  dinner.  I'm  frightfully 
hungry." 


230  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Hilda  rose  wearily  and  left  the  room  at  once. 

"  I  think  I  can  guess  something — just  some 
thing  of  what  it  means,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  My  little  Judy — my  brave  little  Judy!  " 

Judy's  letter  was  lying  hidden  all  this  time 
under  the  large  pin-cushion  on  Hilda's  dressing 
table,  but  as  it  was  not  seen,  its  contents,  which 
would  have  explained  a  good  deal,  were  of 
course  not  known. 

The  dinner  which  followed  this  unhappy  be 
ginning  of  the  evening  was  as  dismal  and  con 
strained  as  if  poor  "  trumpery "  were  still 
present. 

Quentyns,  like  most  men  who  work  hard  all 
day,  was  particular  about  this  meal,  and  to-night 
of  all  nights  cook  had  not  sent  up  the  soup  to 
his  satisfaction,  nor  the  entree  seasoned  to  his 
taste.  It  was  all  one  to  Hilda  just  now  what 
she  ate,  but  Quentyns  pushed  his  plate  impa 
tiently  awTay,  and  kept  on  referring  to  the  excel 
lent  dinner  he  had  had  the  night  before  at  the 
Star  and  Garter.  He  spoke  of  his  evening  as 
delightful,  and  of  the  house  of  the  new  friend 
\vhere  he  had  slept  as  altogether  irreproach 
able. 

Hilda  felt  that  he  was  talking  at  her  all  the 
time,  but  she  had  not  the  heart  to  reply  to  him. 
The  dismal  little  meal  came  to  a  mournful  end, 


GIANT-KILLER.  231 

and  the  two  went  into  the  drawing  room  to  wait 
for  Rivers'  arrival. 

Hilda  took  up  a  handkerchief  she  was  em 
broidering  for  Judy,  and  took  special  pleasure  in 
putting  in  new  and  exquisite  stitches  as  her 
thoughts  centered  themselves  in  dull  wonder 
and  pain  round  the  child.  Quentyns  became 
absorbed  in  the  contents  of  a  novel.  He  read 
for  half  an  hour — he  was  by  no  means  in  a  good 
humor,  and  now  and  then  his  eyes  were  raised  to 
look  over  the  top  of  the  book  at  his  wife. 
There  was  a  patient  sort  of  suffering  about  her 
which  irritated  him  a  good  bit,  as  he  could  see  no 
possible  reason  to  account  for  it.  He  asked  her 
one  or  two  questions,  which  she  answered  in  an 
abstracted  manner. 

No,  he  certainly  had  not  bargained  for  this 
sort  .of  thing  when  he  married.  Hilda  was  not 
only  pretty,  but  she  could  be,  when  she  liked, 
sufficiently  intellectual  to  satisfy  his  require 
ments.  He  was  fastidious  and  had  peculiar 
views  with  regard  to  women.  He  hated  the  so- 
called  clever  women,  but  at  the  same  time  he 
despised  the  stupid  ones.  To  please  him  a 
woman  must  have  tact — she  must  quickly  under 
stand  his  many  moods.  She  must  sympathize 
when  he  demanded  sympathy,  and  when  he 
showed  by  his  manner  that  he  wished  to  be  left 


23 2  A     YOUA'G  MUTINEER. 

alone,  she  must  respect  his  desires.  Hitherto, 
Hilda  had  abundantly  fulfilled  his  expectations. 
If  Judy  had  not  been  in  the  house,  all  that  he  had 
ever  dreamed  of  in  his  married  life  would  have 
come  to  pass.  But  to-night,  although  Judy 
was  not  there  to  intermeddle,  Quentyns  felt  that, 
for  all  the  good  his  wife  was  doing  him,  he  might 
as  well  be  a  bachelor  at  his  club. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said  with  some  impatience, 
and  forgetting  himself  not  a  little,  "  do  you 
know  that  you  have  made  precisely  the  same  re 
mark  now  five  times?  I  did  not  quarrel  with 
its  brilliancy  the  first  time  I  heard  it,  but  on  the 
fifth  occasion  I  will  own  that  it  gave  me  a  cer 
tain  sense  of  ennui.  As  I  see  that  your  thoughts 
are  miles  away,  I'll  just  run  round  to  the  club  for 
a  bit  and  find  out  if  there  is  anything  going  on." 

Hilda  raised  her  eyes  in  some  surprise.  A 
certain  expression  in  them  seemed  to  expostu 
late  with  Jasper,  but  her  lips  said  nothing;  and 
just  at  that  moment  a  hansom  was  heard  to  bowl 
up  rapidly  and  stop  with  a  quick  jerk  at  the 
door.  A  moment  later  Rivers  entered  the 
drawing  room.  He  came  up  at  once  to  Hilda 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  a  message  to  de 
liver. 

"  Judy  hopes  you  got  her  note  long  ere  this, 
Mrs.  Quentyns." 


GIANT-KILLER.  233 

"  Her  note — no;  I  have  not  received  any," 
replied  Hilda. 

"  She  wrote  to  you  this  morning,  and  put  the 
note  under  the  pin-cushion  in  your  room." 

"  How  romantic  and  Judy-like!  "  said  Quen- 
tyns  suddenly.  "  Quite  the  correct  thing,  ac 
cording  to  the  old-fashioned  novels.  When  the 
heroine  elopes  she  always  leaves  a  note  under  the 
pin-cushion." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Jasper?  I  did  not  notice 
you  until  this  moment,"  said  Rivers.  He  gave 
the  other  man  a  sharp  glance,  which  suddenly 
made  him  feel  queer  and  small.  "  The  only 
thing  old-fashioned  that  I  notice  about  Judy," 
he  said,  "  is  her  noble  unselfishness.  She  has 
gone  home  because — because — I  think  you  can 
both  guess  why;  an  explanation  would  only  be 
disagreeable.  She  begged  me  to  tell  you,  Mrs. 
Quentyns,  that  she  meant  to  be  really  perfectly 
happy  at  home,  and  she  hoped  you  and  Jasper 
would  follow  her  example  here.  Poor  little 
Giant  Killer!  she  slew  an  enormous  giant  to 
day,  and  there  are  few  people  I  respect  as  I  do 
that  dear  little  soul.  I  saw  her  safely  to  the 
Rectory,  as,  when  she  came  to  me,  I  thought  it 
best  to  humor  what  was  more  a  noble  inspira 
tion  than  a  child's  whim.  I  will  say  good-night 
now." 


234  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Hilda  scarcely  said  a  word  while  Rivers  was 
speaking.  When  he  left  the  room,  however, 
she  stood  still  for  an  instant,  listening  intently. 
Jasper  had  gone  out  to  see  his  friend  into  his 
hansom.  Would  he  come  back?  He  did  for 
a  moment. 

"  Don't  sit  up  for  me,  Hilda,"  he  said;  and 
there  was  a  tone  in  his  voice  which  caused  her 
heart  to  sink  down  low,  very  low  indeed. 

She  heard  the  door  slam  behind  him,  and  then 
she  knew  that  she  was  alone.  The  servants  had 
gone  to  bed — to  all  intents  and  purposes  she 
was  absolutely  alone  in  the  silent  house. 

So  Judy's  sacrifice  was  in  vain.  Judy  had 
thought,  by  absolutely  sacrificing  herself,  that 
she  could  bring  this  husband  and  wife  together. 
It  was  not  to  be. 

Hilda  fell  on  her  knees  and  buried  her  burn 
ing  face  in  the  sofa  cushions. 

"  Oh,  Judy,  little  Judy!  "  she  sobbed.  "  Oh, 
Judy,  what  shall  I  do?  My  pain  is  greater  than 
I  can  bear." 

She  knelt  in  this  position  for  a  long  time. 
Her  little  sister's  face  was  distinctly  seen  in  her 
mental  vision;  Judy  seemed  surrounded  by  a  sort 
of  halo — but  what  of  Jasper?  Had  all  the  love 
which  united  these  two  hearts  vanished  like  a 
dream?  Was  he  never  coming  back  to  her? 


GIANT-KILLER.  235 

Would  he  always  misunderstand  her?  Oh,  if 
she  thought  that,  she  would  not  stay  with  him — 
she  would  go  back  to  the  Rectory  and  to  Judy, 
and  forget  her  golden  dream  and  turn  back 
again  to  the  old  life.  For  three  months  she 
would  have  been  a  wife.  She  would  forget  that 
time.  She  would  own  to  Jasper  that  she  had 
made  a  mistake.  She  would  be  Hilda  Merton 
once  more.  Alas!  alas!  that  could  not  be. 
Vows  and  ceremonies  tied  her.  She  had  stood 
beside  the  altar  and  given  herself  away.  There 
was  no  going  back  on  that  step.  Jasper  was 
not  the  Jasper  of  her  dreams.  He  must 
have  a  small  mind  not  to  understand  Judy, 
and  she  had  married  him  because  she  thought 
his  mind  so  big  and  his  heart  so  great.  After 
all,  Judy  was  far  greater  than  Jasper. 

"  My  little  Judy,"  she  murmured  again,  and 
then  she  sank  down  a  pitiable,  weak,  inconsola 
ble  figure  on  the  hearth-rug  close  to  the  expir 
ing  fire.  She  thought  over  the  scenes  of  the 
last  night  and  longed  to  have  them  back 
again. 

"  If  Judy's  arms  were  round  me,  I  should  not 
feel  so  lonely,"  she  murmured.  "  Oh,  Jasper, 
how  can  you  turn  from  me?  How  can  you  fail 
to  understand  that  my  heart  at  least  is  big 
enough  to  love  both  Judy  and  you?  " 


236  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

The  lamp  burnt  dimly  and  the  fire  went  com 
pletely  out.  Hilda  presently  fell  asleep  in  the 
darkness,  and  now  a  moonbeam  shining  into  the 
drawing  room  and  falling  across  her  tired  face 
made  it  look  white  and  unearthly,  almost  like 
the  face  of  a  dead  girl.  It  was  in  this  attitude 
that  Quentyns  found  her  when  he  came  back 
somewhere  between  one  and  two  o'clock. 

His  conscience  was  reproaching  him,  for 
Rivers,  an  old  friend,  had  not  failed  to  give  him 
a  little  spice  of  his  mind;  but  he  was  just  in  that 
irritable  condition  where  repentance  is  almost 
impossible,  and  when  self-abasement  only  leads 
a  man  into  further  wrong-doing. 

When  he  saw  Hilda's  tired  face,  he  said  to 
himself  with  a  sort  of  laugh: 

"  If  I  don't  encourage  this  sort  of  thing,  I 
shall  doubtless  be  more  and  more  of  a  tyrant  in 
the  eyes  of  my  good  wife  and  that  precious  fas 
tidious  child  and  Rivers.  Well,  well,  I  cannot 
see  the  beauty  of  voluntary  martyrdom.  If 
Hilda  weren't  quite  such  a  goose,  she  would 
have  gone  to  bed  two  hours  ago,  instead  of  fall 
ing  asleep  here  to  the  utter  disregard  of  her 
health  and  personal  appearance." 

So  Quentyns,  looking  cross  and  uninterested, 
shook  his  wife  not  too  gently;  spoke  in  a  com 
monplace  tone,  out  of  which  he  purposely  ex- 


GIANT-KILLER.  237 

eluded  every  scrap  of  emotion,  and  asked  her 
how  much  longer  she  wanted  to  sit  up. 

Hilda  stumbled  to  her  feet  without  a  word. 
She  went  upstairs  and  to  bed,  but  although  her 
husband  quickly  slept,  she  lay  awake  until  the 
morning. 

She  came  down  to  breakfast,  looking  tired  and 
fagged.  There  were  black  lines  under  her  eyes, 
and  when  Quentyns  asked  her  what  was  the 
matter,  she  not  only  owned  to  a  headache,  but 
burst  into  tears. 

When  a  man  is  thoroughly  cross,  nothing  irri 
tates  him  more  than  tears  on  the  part  of  his  wife, 
and  Quentyns  now  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to 
rise  hastily  from  the  breakfast  table  and  leave  the 
room,  slamming  the  door  behind  him.  He  put 
in  his  head  a  moment  later  to  nod  to  his  wrfe 
and  say  good-by. 

"  If  I'm  late,  don't  wait  dinner  for  me,"  he 
said,  and  then  he  left  the  house.  Hilda  had 
plenty  of  time  to  wipe  her  tears  away  in  the  de 
serted  breakfast  room.  The  pain  at  her  heart 
was  almost  greater  than  she  could  bear.  Her 
gentle  nature  was  stirred  by  what  she  considered 
gross  injustice  on  the  part  of  her  husband. 

"  He  does  not  care  for  me  any  more,"  she 
muttered.  "  I  thought  him  great  and  brave  and 
good.  I  know  he  is  clever;  I  suppose  he  is 


238  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

great,  and  perhaps  even  good;  but  I  am  too 
small  and  too  little  for  him — I  fail  to  understand 
him,  and  he  does  not  love  me  any  more.  Oh, 
if  only  little  Judy  had  stayed  with  me  I  should 
not  feel  as  broken-hearted  as  I  do  at  present, 
if  only  little  Judy  had  stayed  with  me,  I  should 
loneliness  of  my  life?  " 

At  this  moment  Hilda's  dismal  meditations 
were  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  carriage 
wheels,  which  not  only  came  rattling  down  the 
little  street,  but  stopped  at  the  hall  door.  She 
started  up  in  a  fright,  pushed  back  her  dis 
ordered  hair  from  her  flushed  face,  and  the  next 
moment  found  herself  in  the  voluminous  em 
brace  of  Jasper's  aunt,  Lady  Malvern. 

"  My  dear,"  exclaimed  that  good  lady,  *'  I 
must  apologize  for  not  looking  you  up  sooner, 
but  I  have  been  particularly  busy;  for  Cynthia, 
my  eldest  girl,  has  just  got  engaged  and  we  are 
to  have  a  wedding  in  the  autumn  and  all  kinds 
of  fuss;  but  I  have  not  forgotten  you,  Hilda,  and 
I  have  just  come  to  carry  you  off  for  the  day. 
It  is  a  lovely  day,  and  we  are  all  going  to  drive 
to  Richmond  to  picnic  in  the  park.  Run  up 
stairs,  my  love,  and  put  on  your  hat  and  gloves. 
I  mean  to  carry  you  off  immediately." 

"  But  Jasper  has  just  gone  to  town — he  will 
be  so  sorry  to  have  missed  you,"  said  Hilda. 


GIANT-KILLER.  239 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  can  endure  life  even 
though  I  have  missed  Jasper,"  said  Lady  Mal- 
vern  with  a  laugh.  "  In  any  case  I  want  you, 
and  so  does  Cynthia.  Cynthia  has  taken  a  great 
fancy  to  you,  Hilda;  so  run  away  and  get  ready. 
I  will  send  a  wire  to  your  husband  to  come 
down  and  join  us  later  on.  There  now,  will 
that  content  you,  you  poor,  devoted  little 
soul?" 

Hilda  smiled  and  a  faint  color  came  into  her 
cheeks. 

"  Run  up  to  your  room,  my  dear,"  said  good- 
natured  Lady  Malvern.  "  Be  as  quick  as  ever 
you  can  getting  into  the  prettiest  costume  you 
have,  for  we  are  to  be  quite  a  gay  party,  I  can 
tell  you.  Now  run  off,  dear,  run  off,  and  pray 
don't  keep  me  waiting  a  moment  longer  than 
you  can  help." 

Lady  Malvern  was  the  sort  of  person  who 
never  could  bear  anyone  to  say  "  no  "  to  her, 
and  Hilda  at  first  unwillingly,  but  presently  with 
a  sort  of  elation  and  even  defiance  which  was 
altogether  foreign  to  her  gentle  nature,  prepared 
to  make  herself  smart  for  her  unexpected  gayety. 
She  went  upstairs,  pulled  out  one  of  her 
prettiest  trousseau  dresses,  and,  with  hands  that 
trembled,  began  to  array  herself  in  it. 

Meanwhile  Lady  Malvern  sat  perfectly  still  in 
the  tiny  little  dining  room,  with  a  some- 


A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

what  troubled  look  on  her  good-tempered 
face. 

"  Now,  what  has  Jasper  been  doing-? "  she 
said  to  herself.  "  That  sweet  child  doesn't  look 
happy.  Marks  of  tears  round  her  eyes,  flushed 
cheeks — very  low  spirits.  Dear,  dear!  this  will 
never  do.  Not  more  than  three  months  from 
the  wedding-day." 

Lady  Malvern  had  seen  very  little  of  her 
nephew  since  his  marriage.  She  knew  nothing, 
therefore,  about  Judy;  but  she  was  just  that 
fussy,  goo'cl-natured,  hearty  sort  of  body  who 
could  not  bear  anyone  with  whom  she  came  in 
contact  to  be  miserable. 

.  "  I  must  set  this  right  somehow  or  other,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "  Jasper  doesn't  understand 
Hilda,  and  Hilda  is  wretched,  and  thinks,  poor 
dear  little  goose,  that  the  sun  will  never  shine 
again,  and  that  life  is  practically  over  for  her. 
She  does  not  know,  how  could  she,  poor  darling, 
how  many  rubs  married  people  have  to  live 
through,  and  how  jolly  and  comfortable  they  are 
notwithstanding  them.  Well,  well,  I  am  glad  I 
called.  I  must  set  things  right  between  this 
pair,  whatever  happens." 

Lady  Malvern  little  guessed,  however,  that 
she  personally  was  to  have  very  little  to  do  with 
smoothing  the  rumpled  rose-leaves  in  Hilda's 
and  Jasper's  lives. 


GIANT-KILLER.  241 

When  Mrs.  Quentyns  returned  to  the  little 
dining  room  the  flush  on  her  cheeks  and  the 
softened  look  in  her  sweet  eyes  but  added  to  her 
beauty,  and  when  she  found  herself  bowling 
away  through  the  pleasant  spring  air  in  her  kind 
friend's  company,  in  spite  of  herself,  her  spirits 
could  not  help  rising. 

Lady  Malvern  had  a  house  in  Hans  Place,  and 
there  Cynthia  and  two  younger  girls  were  wait 
ing  for  them. 

The  day  was  a  perfect  one,  very  warm  and 
summery  for  the  time  of  year,  and  the  young 
people  all  agreed  that  it  was  by  no  means  too 
early  in  the  season  to  enjoy  themselves  even  in 
this  al  fresco  fashion. 

They  were  to  end  with  tea  at  the  "  Star  and 
Garter,"  and  they  all  started  off  now  for  this 
day's  pleasure  in  the  highest  spirits. 

Hilda  was  quite  young  enough  to  enjoy  such 
a  proceeding  immensely.  As  space  divided  her 
from  her  little  home  in  Philippa  Terrace  her 
spirits  rose,  and  now,  if  Judy  had  only  been  by 
her  side,  she  would  have  felt  perfectly  happy. 

By  the  time  they  reached  Richmond  Park  all 
trace  of  tears  and  sorrow  had  left  her  charming 
face,  and  she  was  one  of  the  brightest  and  gayest 
of  the  company. 

No  one  could  make  herself  more  useful  than 


342  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Hilda,  and  when  her  husband  appeared  on  the 
scene,  he  was  a  good  deal  astonished  to  see  her 
flying  lightly  about,  ordering  and  directing  the 
arrangements  of  the  picnic  dinner.  Her  gay 
laughter  floated  to  his  ears  on  the  summer 
breeze,  her  cheeks  were  bright,  her  eyes  shining. 
In  short,  she  looked  like  that  charming  Hilda 
who  had  won  his  heart  in  the  old  Rectory  gar 
den  not  a  year  ago. 

Hilda  was  busily  helping  to  concoct  a  salmon 
mayonnaise,  when,  raising  her  eyes,  she  met  her 
husband's  gaze.  He  smiled  back  at  her  a  look 
of  approval  and  love,  and  her  heart  rose  con 
siderably. 

There  were  other  people  present  besides  Jas 
per  who  thought  Mrs.  Quentyns  a  very  beauti 
ful  young  woman.  There  were  others  waiting 
to  show  her  the  most  polite  and  gracious  atten 
tions,  and  these  facts  considerably  enhanced  her 
value  in  her  husband's  eyes.  In  short,  he  began 
to  fall  in  love  with  his  wife  over  again,  and 
Judy  for  the  time  being  was  forgotten  by  this 
pair. 

The  day  passed  all  too  quickly,  and  at  last  the 
moment  arrived  when  the  little  party  must  turn 
their  steps  homeward. 

'  You  must  both  come  home  and  have  sup 
per  with  us,"  said  Lady  Malvern  to  her  nephew 


GIANT-KILLER.  243 

and  his  wife.  "  Oh,  yes,  I  shall  take  no  denial; 
and  now,  Jasper,  will  you  drive  Cynthia  and  her 
sister  back  to  town?  I  mean  Hilda  to  accom 
pany  me." 

Jasper  was  all  smiles  and  good-humor.  He 
was  willing  to  accede  to  any  arrangement  which 
could  add  to  the  pleasures  of  the  day,  and  Hilda, 
in  whose  heart  a  faint  hope  had  lingered  that  she 
and  her  husband  might  have  gone  home  to 
gether,  followed  Lady  Malvern  to  her  carriage 
with  a  little  sigh.  The  whole  party  was  soon 
driving  home.  Lady  Malvern  and  Hilda  had  a 
small  victoria  to  themselyes.  As  soon  as  ever 
they  left  the  rest  of  the  party,  the  older  woman 
turned  and  gave  a  full  glance  at  the  girl  by  her 
side. 

"  Hilda,"  she  said  suddenly,  "  you  look  bet 
ter  than  you  did  this  morning." 

"  Oh,  I  feel  better,"  she  replied.  "  You  have 
done  me  lots  of  good,"  she  continued,  raising 
her  eyes  with  an  affectionate  light  in  them  to 
Lady  Malvern's  kind  face. 

"I  am  delighted  to  have  helped  you,  my  love," 
replied  the  elder  lady;  "  and  now,  Hilda,  I  want 
to  say  something.  You  have  been  married  very 
little  over  three  months.  It  is  a  very  common 
illusion  with  girls  to  imagine  that  married  life  is 
a  time  of  perpetual  bliss." 


244  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

Hilda  opened  her  lips  to  say  something,  but 
Lady  Malvern  interrupted. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  you  must  hear  me  out. 
Married  life  is  not  a  bed  of  roses,  and  the  first 
year  which  a  young  couple  spend  together  is 
generally  the  hardest  of  all." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Mrs.  Quentyns. 
"  Why  the  first  year?  " 

"  Because,  my  dear,  the  glamour  is  gradually 
being  removed.  The  girl  is  finding  that  the  hero 
whom  she  married  is  a  right  good  fellow,  but 
still  that  he  is  human;  that  he  has  his  faults  and 
his  aggravations;  that  he  needs  to  be  humored 
and  consulted  and  petted,  and  to  have  his  small- 
nesses — yes,  my  dear,  mark  the  word,  his  small- 
nesses — attended  to.  The  husband  is  making 
similar  discoveries  with  regard  to  the  lovely 
angel  whom  he  took  to  his  arms.  She,  too,  is 
mortal — affectionate,  of  course,  and  sweet  and 
womanly,  and  ten  thousand  times  better  than  a 
real  angel  would  be  to  him,  but  still  with  her 
faults,  her  tempers,  and  her  fads.  The  young 
couple  discover  these  things  in  each  other  dur 
ing  the  first  two  or  three  months  of  married  life. 
All  their  future  happiness  depends  on  how  they 
both  act,  under  the  influence  of  these  discoveries. 
They  have  got  to  learn  that,  though  they  are 
made  one  by  the  priest,  they  are  both  of  them 


GIANT-KILLER.  245 

distinct  individualities.  If  they  are  to  be  happy 
together,  they  must  both  give  and  take.  I 
know  a  married  couple  who  are  now  the  hap 
piest,  prosiest,  most  attached  old  pair  in  the 
world,  who  went  through  no  end  of  storms  dur 
ing  their  first  eventful  year.  But  they  learned  a 
lesson  and  profited  by  it.  The  wife  does  not 
now  think  her  husband  the  greatest  hero  that 
ever  set  foot  on  this  earth,  and  the  husband  does 
not  call  his  wife  an  angel;  but  I  think,  if  their 
love  were  analyzed,  it  would  be  found  greater, 
deeper,  and  more  tender  than  that  early  glamour 
which  was  love,  but  was  not  equal  to  the  love 
tried  by  fire  which  comes  later  in  life.  Now, 
my  dear,  you  will  forgive  my  little  lecture.  If 
you  had  need  of  it,  ponder  my  words ;  if  not,  for 
give  an  old  woman  for  worrying  you.  Hilda, 
what  a  sweet,  pretty  little  house  you  have!  I 
always  knew  that  my  nephew  Jasper  had  good 
taste.  I  am  so  truly  glad  that  you  have  the 
same." 

While  Lady  Malvern  was  speaking,  Hilda 
pulled  down  her  veil,  and  struggled  hard  to  keep 
the  tears  from  her  brown  eyes.  She  could  not 
quite  manage  this,  however,  and  Lady  Malvern, 
giving  her  a  half-glance,  saw  that  her  eyelashes 
were  wet. 

She  did  not  add  any  more  in  words,  but  she 


246  A     YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

made  up  her  mind  to  help  the  young  girl  by 
every  means  in  her  power. 

They  drove  on  rapidly.  The  horses  were 
fresh,  and  they  were  getting  over  the  ground 
with  great  rapidity,  when  a  quickly  approaching 
train  startled  one  of  the  horses.  At  the  same 
time  a  man  on  a  bicycle  darted  round  the  corner, 
and  before  he  could  help  himself,  knocked 
against  the  carriage.  The.  double  shock  was 
enough  for  the  affrighted  horses.  They  plunged, 
reared,  and  became  unmanageable,  and  the  next 
moment  the  little  victoria  was  overturned,  and 
Lady  Malvern  and  Mrs.  Quentyns  were  flung 
with  some  violence  on  the  pavement.  Lady 
Malvern  was  not  severely  hurt,  and  she  sprang 
almost  immediately  to  her  feet,  but  the  fright 
and  fall  had  stunned  Hilda,  who  lay  white  and 
still  on  the  ground  without  any  attempt  at 
movement.  The  usual  crowd  of  course  col 
lected,  and  it  was  on  this  scene  that  Quentyns, 
in  high  good-humor,  and  forgetting  for  the  time 
being  that  there  was  a  crumpled  rose-leaf  in  the 
world,  suddenly  came  with  some  more  of  the 
picnic  party.  As  a  matter  of  course,  they  all 
drew  up.  Quentyns  was  driving  a  high  dog 
cart.  He  sprang  to  the  ground  and  ran  into  the 
midst  of  the  crowd.  Then  for  the  first  time  he 
realized  what  had  happened.  His  young  wife, 


GIA  X  T -KILLER.  247 

looking  as  if  she  were  dead,  wa<:  lying  in  Lady 
Malvern's  arms.  Lady  Malvern  was  seated  on 
a  doorstep.  Some  men  were  hastily  coming  for 
ward  with  a  shutter. 

"  My  God!  "  exclaimed  Ouentyns;  "  is  she 
dead?  " 

"  No,  my  dear  boy,  no — only  stunned,"  said 
Lady  Malvern.  "  Here,  take  her  into  your  own 
arms,  Jasper.  You  are  stronger  than  I.  Let 
her  see  your  face  first  when  she  opens  her 
eyes.  No  medicine  will  be  so  reviving  as 
that." 

Here  a  woman  came  up  and  spoke  to  Lady 
Malvern. 

"  I  shall  be  only  too  pleased  to  have  the  young 
lady  brought  into  my  house,  madam,"  she  said. 
"  A  very  good  doctor  lives  just  round  the  cor 
ner,  and  he  can  be  summoned  at  once." 

"  Yes,  yes;  send  for  him  immediately,"  said 
Quentyns. 

He  strode  into  the  house  with  his  light  bur 
den.  Hilda  was  laid  upon  a  sofa,  and  in  a  few 
moments  the  doctor  arrived.  He  felt  her  all 
over  and  said  that  no  bones  were  broken,  and 
that  no  severe  injury  of  any  kind  had  occurred, 
but  both  fall  and  shock  had  been  very  severe. 
He  counseled  her  being  left  undisturbed  in  het 
present  condition  until  the  morning. 


248  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

"  Then  I  will  go  home,"  said  Lady  Malvern. 
"  You  will  look  after  her  yourself,  Jasper?  " 

"  Need  you  ask?  "  he  replied.  He  followed 
his  aunt  to  the  door  as  he  spoke. 

"  Hilda  had  a  narrow  escape  of  her  life,"  said 
Lady  Malvern,  looking  full  at  her  nephew  as  she 
spoke.  "  How  sudden  and  awful  it  all  was! 
There  were  we  chatting  together,  and  thinking" 
no  more  of  danger  than  if  such  a  thing  did  not 
exist,  when  all  in  an  instant  came  that  awful  bolt 
from  the  blue.  I  shall  never  forget  the  swing 
ing  of  the  carriage  and  the  way  the  horses 
looked  when  they  plunged  and  kicked  about,  or 
the  white  piteous  face  of  your  sweet  little  Hilda, 
who  would  not  scream  nor  show  any  outward 
sign  of  terror.  I  thought  it  was  all  over  with 
both  of  us — I  did  really,  Jasper.  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  thankful  we  ought  to  be  that  things 
are  no  worse." 

"  You  are  sure  then  that  Hilda  is  not  in  dan 
ger?  "  queried  the  young  man  in  a  tremulous 
voice. 

"  No,  no;  what  did  you  hear  the  doctor  say, 
you  silly  boy?  Perhaps  the  best  thing  that 
could  have  happened  to  Hilda  was  this  accident, 
dreadful  as  it  was  for  the  moment.  Perhaps — 
well,  Jasper,  I  think  you  must  know  what  I 
mean." 


GIANT-KILLER.  249 

"  Has  Hilda  been  talking  about  me?  "  asked 
Jasper,  a  wave  of  red  mounting  to  his  brow. 

"  Talking  about  you?  "  replied  his  aunt,  now 
thoroughly  angry;  "  only  in  the  way  that  Hilda 
can  talk  of  those  whom  she  loves  best  on  earth. 
Jasper,  you  are  the  luckiest  man  in  the  world, 
and  if  you  don't  contrive  to  make  that  sweet 
child  the  happiest  woman,  I  for  one  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  you  again." 

"  No  fear,  no  fear,  if  she  loves  me  in  that  way," 
murmured  Jasper. 

He  turned  abruptly  on  his  heel  and  went  back 
to  the  room  where  his  wife  lay.  He  was  a  very 
proud,  reserved  man,  and  even  in  moments  of 
the  deepest  agitation  would  scarcely  reveal  his 
real  sentiments.  But  that  moment,  when  he 
had  looked  at  his  wife's  white  face  and  had 
thought  that  she  was  dead,  had  shaken  his  whole 
nature  to  its  very  depths.  He  made  a  discovery 
then  that  nothing  in  all  the  world  was  of  any  real 
value  to  him  compared  with  Hilda's  love. 

"  I  have  acted  like  a  brute  to  her,"  he  mur 
mured.  "  Rivers  was  right.  She's  too  good 
for  me — she's  fifty  times  too  good  for  me.  My 
God,  how  white  she  looks  as  she  lies  there! 
Suppose  the  doctor  is  wrong.  Why  doesn't  she 
speak  or  move?  Why  do  they  make  so  little  of 
this  continued  unconsciousness?  I  think  I'll  go 


250  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

for  some  further  advice.  Oh,  my  darling,  my 
darling,  if  you  are  dead,  if  your  sweet  life  lias 
been  taken,  I  shall  never  forgive  myself — 
never!  " 

But  just  then  there  was  a  faint  stir  of  the 
heavily  fringed  lids  which  lay  against  Hilda's 
white  cheeks.  The  next  moment  the  sweet 
brown  eyes  were  opened  wide,  and  Hilda  looked 
into  her  husband's  face. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked  drowsily. 
"  I  don't  remember  anything.  Where  are  we?  " 

"Together,  Hilda,"  he  replied;  "together. 
Does  anything  else  really  matter?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no! "  she  said,  with  a  catch  in  her 
voice. 

Next  day  Mrs.  Quentyns  was  so  far  convales 
cent  as  to  be  able  to  return  to  the  little  house  in 
Philippa  Terrace.  Jasper,  of  course,  accompa 
nied  her.  They  had  found  a  good  deal  to  say  to 
each  other,  between  the  moment  when  she  had 
opened  her  eyes  the  night  before  and  now. 
Both  had  some  things  to  confess — both  had 
some  words  of  forgiveness  to  crave  from  the 
other.  So  complete  now  had  been  the  inter 
change  of  soul  and  of  love  between  this  pair  that 
it  seemed  impossible  that  anything  could  ever 
separate  such  warm  hearts  again. 


GIA  N  T- KILLER.  2  5  I 

"  And  it  has  been  all  Judy's  doing,"  said  Jas 
per  as  they  sat  that  evening  in  the  little  drawing 
room. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  his  wife. 

"  Why,"  he  answered,  "  if  Judy  had  not 
brought  matters  to  a  crisis  by  going  away,  we 
might  have  drifted  further  and  further  apart. 
But  now  we  must  have  her  back  again,  Hilda. 
She  has  fulfilled  her  mission,  dear  little  soul,  and 
now  she  must  have  her  reward." 

"  No,"  said  Hilda,  in  a  firm  voice.  "  Judy 
shall  have  her  reward,  but  not  by  coming  back. 
She  did  right  to  go.  I  could  never,  never  have 
sent  her  away,  but  she  did  right  to  go." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Hilda,  that  you 
could  be  perfectly  happy  to  live  without 
her?  " 

"  With  you,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  and  looking  into  his  face  with  her  sweet 
eyes  shining  through  tears. 

He  put  his  arms  round  her  and  kissed  her 
many  times. 

"  Jasper,"  said  Hilda  after  a  few  minutes,  "  I 
think  the  first  wrong  step  that  I  took — the  first 
beginning  of  that  unhappy  time — was  when  I 
lost  my  temper  down  at  Little  Staunton  and 
gave  up  my  engagement  ring." 

"  No  wonder  you  lost  your  temper  when  I 


252  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

was  such  a  brute  about  everything,"  said  Quen- 
tyns.  "  It  was  my  fault." 

"  No,  no;  it  was  mine." 

"  Have  you  missed  the  ring,  Hilda?  " 

"  Missed  it?  "  she  held  up  her  slender  finger. 
"  My  heart  has  been  empty  without  it,"  she  said. 

"  Then  let  me  put  it  on  again  for  you." 

"  Can  you?     Is— isn't  it  sold?  " 

"  Of  course  not.  Do  you  think  that  I  could 
sell  that  ring?  " 

"  But — but  the  furniture  in  Judy's  room?  " 

"  When  I  saw  that  you  must  have  Judy  with 
you,  Hilda,  I  went  into  debt  for  the  furniture. 
Oh,  never  mind  all  that  now,  my  darling — the 
debt  is  paid  in  full  a  week  ago,  and  I  have  the 
receipt  in  my  pocket.  Now  I  am  going  upstairs 
to  fetch  the  ring." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

GOOD    OMENS. 

And  so  the  shadows  fall  apart, 

And  so  the  west  winds  play; 
And  all  tha  windows  of  my  heart 

I  open  to  the  day. 

— WHITTIER. 

Mildred  Anstruther  was  paying  a  visit  at  the 
Rectory  on  the  day  that  Rivers  and  Judy  walked 
in.  Rivers  was  a  very  striking-looking  man, 
and  all  the  Rectory  people  were  so  devoured 
with  curiosity  about  him,  and  so  interested  in  all 
he  said  and  did — in  his  reasons  for  coming  down 
to  Little  Staunton,  and  in  his  remarks  about  the 
Quentyns — that  Judy's  own  return  to  the  family 
circle  passed  into  utter  insignificance.  She  was 
there — they  had  none  of  them  expected  her.  and 
as  she  chose  to  come  back,  she  was  welcome  of 
course. 

It  was  a  lovely  day,  and  the  whole  party  were 
out  in  the  garden,  when  Rivers  and  his  little 
charge  entered  their  midst. 

Judy  wore  her  green  cloak  and  pretty  black 
shady  hat.  There  was  a  new  sort  of  picturesque- 
•u 


254  A    YOUNG  MUTINEER. 

ness  about  her,  which  Aunt  Marjorie  noticed  in 
an  abstracted  way;  she  put  it  down  to  "  the 
polish  which  even  a  short  residence  in  the 
metropolis  always  gives;"  she  had  not  the 
faintest  idea  that  it  was  due  to  the  dignity  which 
a  noble  action  can  inspire. 

Judy  greeted  everyone  quite  in  her  old  man 
ner,  and  was  rather  glad  that  she  was  not  fussed 
over,  but  taken  quite  as  a  matter-of-course. 

Aunt  Marjorie  was  too  anxious  about  the 
cream  for  Rivers'  tea  to  give  serious  thoughts  to 
anyone  else  just  then.  But  when  the  young 
man  had  departed  to  catch  the  return  train  to 
London,  then  a  few  questions  were  asked  of 
Judy. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  live  with 
Hilda,"  said  Mildred,  looking  curiously  at  the 
child. 

Mildred  was  standing  a  little  apart  from  the 
others,  and  Judy,  whose  face  was  pale,  for  the 
suffering  of  her  self-sacrifice  was  still  causing  her 
heart  to  ache  horribly,  looked  full  at  her,  and 
said  in  a  low  voice: 

"  That  turned  out  to  be  a  mistake,  so  I've 
come  home." 

"You  brave  little  darling!"  said  Mildred, 
understanding  everything  like  a  flash;  she 
stooped  and  kissed  Judy  on  her  forehead. 


GOOD   OMENS.  255 

Babs  came  rushing  into  the  midst  of  the 
group. 

"  Judy,  Judy,  I  want  you,"  she  cried. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Judy. 

"  There's  a  butterfly  coming  out  of  a  chrysalis 
in  the  butterfly-case;  come  quick — he's  moving 
his  tail  backward  and  forward — he'll  soon  be 
out;  come  quick  and  see  him." 

The  dull  look  left  Judy's  eyes;  they  sparkled 
with  a  sudden,  swift,  childish  joy. 

She  took  Babs'  hand,  and  they  rushed  away, 
right  round  to  the  back  of  the  house  where  the 
butterfly-case  stood. 

"  Let's  take  him  out,  poor  darling,"  she  said; 
"  let's  put  him  on  a  leaf,  and  watch  him  as  he 
gets  out  of  his  prison." 

Her  eyes  grew  brighter  and  brighter;  she  bent 
low  to  watch  the  resurrection  which  was  going 
on. 

After  all  the  chrysalis  and  the  butterfly  were 
emblems.  They  were  good  omens  to  Judy  that 
love  and  hope  were  not  dead. 


THE    END. 


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